


How to Fake a Miracle, Or: It's Not Necromancy If You're Doing it For Love

by thalialunacy



Category: Fast and the Furious Series, Leverage, Lie to Me (TV), Merlin (TV), Supernatural
Genre: After Camlann Merlin Big Bang, Big Bang Challenge, Caper Fic, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Fish out of Water, Fix-It, Heist, M/M, Multiple Crossovers, Post-5x13, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s05e13 The Diamond of the Day, Post-Series, Re-animation, back from the dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:38:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2087370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waiting a thousand years drives Merlin to do some things he wouldn't otherwise do. Boost cars, like. Hunt demons, maybe. Trust Americans, despite better instincts.</p>
<p>But when all he's got is the clothes on his back and the weight of time on his shoulders, it's too easy to end up in the middle of the woods of the northern Pacific coast of the States with two brothers named Sam & Dean, chanting dead words over an ancient sigil, trying to bring back the one thing that has ever, ever mattered to him.</p>
<p>And when King Arthur wakes up in their crap hotel room sometime later, spouting a language Merlin hasn't heard in a very, very long time, well, he might just think he's figured everything out.</p>
<p>Spoiler alert: He hasn't.</p>
<p> </p>
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	How to Fake a Miracle, Or: It's Not Necromancy If You're Doing it For Love

**Author's Note:**

> **Genre** : Arthur-back-from-the-dead sort of thing. Supernatural caper of rather large proportions, with a strong dash of snark and a bouquet of happily ever after.
> 
> **A note about canon compliance** : Don't expect it to be exact. The good news, though, is that you don't have to be familiar with ANY of the canons to still enjoy the story. No, really! I've had strangers tell me this in the comments. :D
> 
> **FYI, this story started out as this:**  
>  Basically I think any bigbang I do ever should just involve porn and cheerios  
> I mean not that Arthur had cheerios  
> He would like them though

KA- _BOOM!_

Merlin's not one for onomatopoeias, but the sound of a sarcophagus slamming open is a pretty indescribable one, and he's a little busy trying to remember which spell it is for vampires—he gets it mixed up with the zombie one; all the undead spells have similar linguistic roots and are the devil to memorize, pun intended—to really think descriptively. He's got his hand out, his chest tight and his brain racing in a buzzing sort of way—

—when a blade slices through the air, and the vampire's head is suddenly on the ground. That's a definite _thump_ , he notes offhandedly.

"That doesn't even make any sense," says the bloke holding the sword, and Merlin for a moment thinks he's been compromised, that his thoughts are out there, in the air for all to see. Or that he's been talking to himself again. And he's been in his younger form, recently, so he doesn't even have the excuse of being an OAP.

But then the stranger, with his slightly bow legs and his many layers of flannel and denim, continues: "Vampires don't even like graves."

Merlin manages a shrug. "Maybe this one watched too many Bela Lugosi movies," he says wryly. "Thanks, by the way." He gestures at the head lolling on the ground. "For that."

"No problem." Then the man inclines his chin to something behind Merlin. "Sammy!"

"Got it," a voice responds, and Merlin turns just in time to see a guy Percival's size--only with shaggy hair and, again, layers of plaid--pop open another vampire.

He suddenly feels a little too uncomfortably like the damsel in distress. It's a feeling he's never enjoyed.

He considers his options. Clearly these gentlemen are hunters, the kind that go after the supernatural scum of the earth as if their lives depend on it, the kind Merlin has been interacting with--and, to some extent, emulating--for the last six months, so they're not going to shy away from a bit of magic.

He raises one finger towards the bodies, murmurs, and watches with quiet satisfaction as the corpses go up in neat flames, quickly becoming merely dust.

"Whoa," the shorter one says. Then his impressed tone gives way to a suspicious expression. "Wait. Demon?"

Merlin shakes his head, holding out his left hand and pushing up his sleeve to show the protective sigil tattoo. "Wizard."

The guy's eyes widen, then the corners of his mouth tips down with a nod of respect. "Cool." He steps up and reaches a hand out. "I'm Dean. That giant sad-looking kid over there is my brother, Sam."

Merlin nods and shakes hands with them, assessing what he can. They are definitely humans, and definitely hunters, but definitely not normal. For a fleeting moment he thinks about re-incarnation, but it's a theory he's never put much stock into. It would've happened already, if it were to happen at all. So whatever it is about these gents, he can't put his finger on it, but he can tell they are unique. "Nice to meet you. My name's Merlin."

Dean chuckles. "Of course it is." He gestures at the car lumbering in the distance. "You wanna join us for a post-vamp killin' beer?"

Merlin shrugs. "As long as it's not a Corona."

Dean makes a face. "Oh, hell no."

Merlin hasn't had a Corona since he left Nevada. It's something he wants to keep there. Keep sacred, in a way.

He's seen a lot, right. Met a lot of people. They go and they come and although they are always, always important, sometimes Merlin finds he can't remember their names the next day.

Immortality, unfortunately, didn't come with unlimited mental storage capacity.

So he has a system, a mental organization system. He puts dates up like pegs, hangs people's names off them. Sometimes the pegs aren't dates, they're things. Fountains, churches, magazine covers, coffee cups. Beers.

Cars.

"This yours?" Merlin says, a respectful eyebrow raised, as they approach an ancient, huge, petulantly American behemoth of a horseless carriage.

"Yeah. Beauty, am I right?"

The look on Dean's face—pride, affection, a little bit of pain and a whole lot of love. Merlin shakes his head, admiring, remembering other times he's seen that look. "Yeah, she is. Sixty… seven?" he guesses, only having to poke into Dean's mind a little.

"You know cars?" Dean asks, sounding as if he's trying not to be hopeful.

Merlin presses his lips together so as not to grin. "Sort of."

Italy has always been a beautiful place, no doubt about it. Merlin has liked it especially, selfishly, because he watched it grow, over hundreds of years. It's like a child that he's seen through its cranky teenage phase, and he loves it wholeheartedly and simply. Almost instinctively, even though it had been the place of Arthur's ancestors, not Merlin's.

Romanticising aside, it has also been a place where he can be bored and not notice, because everything feels so ancient anyway.

And by the _Gods_ , has Merlin been bored.

Bonus of the twentieth century, though--along with, well, microwaves and the internet--was cars. Merlin had discovered along the way that he liked cars. He didn't mind walking, and he, like any good Briton, had lived half his last few centuries on buses and trains, but there was nothing like a good car on a winding road.

Italy had had plenty of both. So Merlin had learned how to drive. And drive _fast_.

One downside to being immortal was that it turned a person into a bit of an adrenaline junkie. Merlin had no death to fear, he knew, but still, pushing that line, his sympathetic nervous system didn't know the difference, and so push it he did.

Conveniently, he could always get out of police inquiries, one way or another. He'd start with being charming, something he was quite good at by then--when pressed, at least--and go as far as needs must.

Of course, there had been times he had let himself get arrested, just for the fun of it. Only a few, and not for years, but he was contemplating it on a sunny day in Cremona, after a leisurely drive had become a race with some lads who turned out to be American.

That last bit was only discovered as they were all being hustled out of their cars by the _polizia_. There was a lot of talk coming from one of the two racers, sounding suspiciously like cop talk, and absolutely none from the other one after the initial grunting of a name.

Merlin sighed, contemplated it for a second, thought of all the paperwork the tourists would have to do, then turned to the officers and murmured something. He could tell the moment the spell worked, and couldn't help a small triumphant smile. "You were saying, Officers?"

The men in uniform didn't even miss a beat. "We were just making sure you folks were all right. Enjoy your trip!"

And then, easy as that, Merlin was back to being alone, on a sunny road in Italy, with his Maserati… and two Americans.

Americans who were looking at him. The quiet one, the one with the shaved head that looked like he'd just as soon kill you and had about ten hundred ways of hiding the body, had an unreadable expression, but the other one, with a week's worth of scruff and a fast mouth, was obviously impressed.

"Did he just Jedi mind-trick those guys?" he said to his stone-cold buddy as they approached Merlin. Merlin chuckled, and the guy turned his attention without hesitation. "Did you just Jedi mind-trick those guys?"

The other guy thunked him on the upper arm with a closed fist. "Shut up, Bri."

"What? Did you not see him?" They'd reached Merlin, and the talker held out his hand. "My name's Brian. Thanks for that, whatever it was."

Merlin shook; the guy's grip was firm and enthusiastic, and his blue eyes and huge smile glinted in the Italian sun, and for a second--

Then the other one reached out a hand, too. Merlin almost feared for his fingers, but it turned out the bloke was much more relaxed up close. Well, and when not being threatened by police action, probably.

"Dominic," was all he offered, but Merlin got all sorts of great stuff off his palm… and yes okay maybe poking inside a little, reaching a tendril of magic into just the top-most layer. Enough to find that a) Dominic could've just gone to jail for a long time and b) he would've done it--and more--in an instant if it protected the man next to him.

Merlin could sympathise. "I'm called Merlin," he said, knowing the wording would lead to--

Brian laughed, loudly--adrenaline, probably--head tipped back and mouth open. Even Dominic gave out a chuckle. "Merlin the Magic Man," Brian said, his eyes alight with mischief.

Merlin had to smile. It _was_ kind of humorous, even after all these years. Especially after all these years, maybe. "Yup, that's me."

"Come on, then, Mister Wizard," Brian had said easily, clapping Merlin on the shoulder. "Let's go conjure up some lunch."

Merlin shrugs, not looking directly at Sam or Dean. His beer is warming in his hand, but he doesn't bother with a spell. "Lunch became days running around Italy--"

"Running cars?" Dean inquires casually, clearly just curious.

"Amongst other things. Then they, er, got in a spot of trouble and had to leave--"

"Uh-huh."

"--so I came with them."

"Why?" Sam asks, while Dean sucks on his beer, looking like he doesn't believe a word Merlin's saying. Merlin's not too terribly bothered by that fact.

He's more bothered by the fact that he's just noticed the sharp silver glint of Dean's thumb ring. He grits his teeth against the wave of nostalgia, and moves on.

He shrugs again. Thousand years and he's still not all that interested in making up answers to suit. "Nothing left to do over there."

"What?" Dean says, leaning forward and lowering his beer. "You're here because you… got bored?"

Merlin breathes out, nods. "Yeah. Really, really, extremely, extraordinarily bored."

Dean's shaking his head. "No. I mean, okay, immortal, I get how that could get boring, if you were just, you know, normal. But you're a _wizard_ , dude. That's never boring."

Merlin shrugs. Sam chuckles, and Dean turns on him. "Oh, what, like you would know."

Sam just looks at him. "I've come close, alright? Plus, just think about it. There's only so many times you can play the same video game, you know what I mean?"

Dean blinks, then concedes. "Fine, okay, I'll go with getting bored by being an immortal wizard, even though it's loony tunes." Merlin inclines his head in acceptance; he's been called worse, and the fact that these guys didn't even blink at his immortality story is a thing in and of itself. "That still doesn't explain what you're doing _here_." Dean points to the ground. "In—Where are we, Sammy?"

"Beaufort."

"Yeah-- in Beaufort, North Dakota."

Merlin doesn't really have an answer. He'd started on this trip, this endless trip that is his life, a long time ago.

He takes another swig of beer. "I like the weather."

When Merlin had parted with Dominic's crew, it hadn't been acrimonious. Merlin wasn't against illegal activity, per se, especially when it really was more like Robin Hooding it (especially considering that that itself was a legend of which he was very fond), and his 'special skills' had come in handy a time or five. And he had liked the crew, honestly. Some very good people, they were.

It had just been time. Merlin had never stayed in one place for very long. Not since there had been only three digits in the year.

That instance, it had been on his agenda to sit in a hotel room for a week, watching bad cable and eating pizza in bed. Because that's all he found he wanted to do, for the moment.

And if there was one thing he'd gotten good at, it was killing time.

When he'd woken up one afternoon, bored enough that boosting cars was starting to sound like a good idea again, he'd sat outside, smoked a cigarette (a rare indulgence; immortal or not they still made him slightly sick to his stomach) and contemplated his options.

By the time he was grinding the fag out on the cement, he had decided he might as well make the most of where he'd landed, and see the States. He'd been to some of them, of course, over the years, but always for a very specific event or place. This time, he wanted to see them all. Act like a proper tourist.

He had boosted a car, to start. In tribute, sort of. Then he'd made his way straight to Alabama, intending to go alphabetically. He'd intended to find monuments, learn dialects, eat all the horrible foods he'd heard about.

Instead, he'd found monsters.

"Ah," Dean says.

"That makes sense," Sam agrees.

Merlin looks at them, bemused. "And it says something about you lot that _that_ makes sense." It barely makes sense to Merlin, still; he had pretty much forgone monster killing once Camelot had fallen, and he sure as hell hadn't expected to take to it again this thoroughly. Arthur probably wouldn't even recognize him.

Dean shrugs. "You went from medieval magical guardian to modern hunter. It's not a huge leap, Einstein."

Merlin just grunts. Drinks more of his beer.

"What was your first?" Dean asks it almost like he's asking about Merlin's first time having sex. A question which might be hiding a scant few beers down the line, Merlin suspects.

"Erm, here?"

Dean raises an eyebrow. "You come across this stuff some place else?"

Merlin very nearly laughs. "Yes, actually. Did you really think America had the corner on the things that go bump in the night market?"

"Uh… kinda?"

Merlin shakes his head. "Be any more American, I dare you."

Dean waves a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah, we've heard it, apple pie and Britney Spears. Now quit being a pansy and answer the question."

Merlin sighs. "My first was a talking fieldmouse when I was seven and so help me God if either of you make a Cinderella joke I will turn you into a toad."

Sam clears his throat and presses his lips together, but Dean doesn't hold it in; he just laughs and laughs.

"I figured it'd be a newt," Sam finally says, tone dryer than the desert.

"You watch too much Monty Python," Merlin says, but there's a bit of a grin playing at his lips.

"There's no such thing as too much Monty Python," Dean counters.

Merlin rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling. "Fair enough."

Dean finishes off his beer. "But why are you still here?"

Merlin huffs out a breath. "Did I not mention I was bored? Do you need me to write it out a few times on a blackboard for you, or are you intending to thoroughly illustrate the failure of the American public school system?"

Dean remains amused. "Whoa there, buddy, tone down the bitter sarcasm. You're dealing with people who have degrees in it."

"And not much else, apparently."

"Hey, I could make a joke about how I have a degree in reality from the school of hard knocks, but I don't think that's a joke English people get."

"No, Thatcher destroyed our sense of humor."

This time it's Sam that's laughing, warmly, and Merlin feels like he might actually get along with these blokes, if they weren't so obviously mental.

And nosy. "But seriously," Dean pushes. He's all relaxed and leaning against the car, sucking on a new beer, and he's not going to let up. Merlin can see how he's an outstanding hunter. Probably the best.

"Why am I still here?" he responds, stalling.

"Yes."

"Why are _you_ still here?" he tries, knowing it's not going to work.

Dean puts his hands out in an expansive gesture. "Because where else would we be? This is what we do. This is what we are."

He is one hundred percent correct, and Merlin doesn't even need to use magic to see it.

"But you--" Dean continues. "You are a wizard with a brand new tattoo, and a distaste for this business."

Merlin raises an eyebrow. "Oh, so you're the psychic kind of hunter?"

"I'm the not-blind kind of hunter, you got me? You may be Father Time but I am smarter than the average bear. So. I'll ask you again. What the hell are you doing here?"

Hunting, Merlin had discovered rather quickly, was completely and utterly disgusting.

As in, literally. He had never gone through so many clothes in his _life_ , and that was bloody well saying something. (To be fair, for a large amount of years it hadn't been standard practice to _own_ very many clothes, but still.) Also, the probability of things _staying dead_ was worse than Vegas slots (at least when Merlin had tried them back in '64) and that just got annoying.

It had taken about six months for it to get to him, though. Six months until it had worn him down, the constant blood and dirt and lack of sleep and lack of being able to trust anything, ever, above or below ground, dead or alive, small or large, pretty or ugly. He had all this darkness, within and without, and had no light to shed on it. No hope. No faith.

No Arthur, really.

One evening, after almost being beheaded by a demon in a kindergartner's body, he had turned down the covers and got drunk. Then he'd finally got the tattoo he'd been avoiding.

It fairly sizzled with the alcohol. Put pinpoints on the hopelessness, seared it into his skin as he felt it was going to be in his soul for the rest of eternity.

And the next morning, he had woken up, just as he had every morning for so very many years, and gone out to do battle once more.

It's Sam's face, in the end, that gets Merlin to say it. He's not sure why, but it's not because Sam's big enough to snap him in two. Or maybe it is— Maybe it's nostalgia, that tingly feeling he gets when he thinks of Percival and the rest.

"I'm waiting for someone."

Dean tips his head down and cocks an eyebrow. "For a thousand years? They get held up at the 7-Eleven?"

"Dean," Sam cuts in. "What's her name, Merlin?"

Merlin clears his throat. "Guys, this is really not necessary."

"Oh, come on," Dean says. "We're way past this blushing violet shit."

Once again, Sam's sure but gentle voice pushes through. " _His_ name, then."

Dean has the grace to hide his startled expression quickly. Merlin looks at Sam, really looks at him. Dean's a firecracker, to be sure, but Sam might be the one to watch out for. "You've probably already got it sorted, haven't you?"

Sam regards him for a moment, his jaw working. "Arthur."

Merlin nods shortly. "Got it in one."

Dean holds up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. You're telling me that not only are you Merlin, like, Gandalf beard--" And he of course mimes these things. "--Sword in the Stone action, but you've been hanging around for a millennia or so waiting for King Arthur to return to you? _The_ King Arthur?"

"That about covers it," Merlin says.

"And, what, he's late for his appointment?"

Merlin sighs. He's really bloody tired. "No. There was no… All I know is that he'll come back. Probably."

"Who says?"

"A dragon. Did. A million years ago."

"No shit, a dragon?" Dean says, a note of glee in his voice.

"Dean…" Sam says.

"Right. Back on topic."

"Thank you."

"So you don't know when, or where, or how?"

"Nope." He thinks briefly of the newest royal baby, and how hopeful he'd let himself get. He ignores the harsh stabby feeling the thought brings.

"Damn." And Dean actually sounds sympathetic, which is nice.

"Some prophecy, eh?"

Dean shakes his head. "They're better when they're vague, trust me."

Merlin chuckles, takes a drag of his beer. "Can do."

They're quiet for a moment. It's quite nice, actually; they're much younger and less angry than most hunters, and clearly less solitary, and it's a refreshing break for Merlin. Maybe they can Three Musketeers it for a while, until he has to move on.

He's still not got all fifty states seen to, yet, after all. And he has nothing but time.

He's already waited a long while. He's gone past impatience and back again more times than he can count, but hasn't seen the whites of its eyes in a while. So he's surprised at his own vehemence when, after a few months of being an Intrepid Trio, Dean suggests they can help Merlin get Arthur back.

"Are you taking the piss?" he says, getting in Dean's face more than necessary. He's just so angry, he can't help it. "You think I haven't tried every kind of magic there is?"

"Seriously, how are you a zillion years old and still have anger management issues?"

"Sod off."

"Guess I'm wrong," Dean shoots back, his tone flippant, but his neck is a bit red, like it means something to him. "So what's wrong with using our apple pie American voodoo? Maybe combined with yours, we can flip the right switch and get his kingly ass back here pronto."

"No. You don't get it, you thick bastard. I've been doing this for _hundreds_ of _years_. I have scoured the _earth_ for an answer."

But Dean isn't having it. "Have you read every book ever written?"

"I--"

"Have you read every book on hunting, a hobby you picked up about nine months ago?"

"No, but--"

"So shut up and let us help you. Nothing makes Sam happier than reading a million dusty books on an obscure-as-hell subject, anyway."

Merlin purses his lips, defensive annoyance still running through his veins. "Why? Why would you help me?"

Dean shrugs, a grin tugging at his mouth. "Because we're bored."

Merlin eyes him, contemplating, but ends up grinning back. "Touche."

Mostly, he lets them have a crack at it because he's one hundred percent sure it's impossible. He's been through more books than anybody could count in the hundreds of years he's being doing this. He's annoyed countless librarians, sneezed at countless dust mites. But he humours Sam & Dean, because he has no reason not to.

"It's not a necromancy spell, guys," he has to point out repeatedly. "His body is gone. I watched it go."

"Yeah, into a mist," Dean says, his tone saying Merlin might be an immortal wizard but Dean's pretty sure he's also an immortal idiot.

Merlin shakes his head. " _He_ went into the mist. It's a magic place, through and through, old magic, dangerous magic. _He_ went into the mist. His body went into the lake, just like anybody else's would."

"Should I ask how you know this?" Dean ventures, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Merlin doesn't have to answer. Sam gets there first. "Shut up, Dean."

"You know how hard it is to make a body appear out of nothing?" Dean complains. "I mean, really nothing? Even angels and demons have to find hosts, hell, even God himself has to."

Merlin's glare is the epitome of British disdain.

"Right," Dean says slowly, rocking back on his heels. "You knew that."

"I know just about everything."

"Except for some minor things, like how to cook ribs, the words to 'Thunder Road,' and, oh yeah, how to bring back the first king of England to fulfill his destiny."

"Yes, well, nobody's perfect."

There's a cough. "Can we focus, please?" Sam has that 'I can't believe I have to deal with these children' tone on again.

Merlin picks up the second book in the pile in front of him. "Of course, Sam. Sorry."

Behind Sam, Dean gives him the finger.

"You've got to be kidding me." Merlin hears Dean's voice as if from a long tunnel, and realizes he's fallen asleep on some dusty tome--again. It's happened an embarrassing amount of times in the few months they've now been working on this.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, and he is, but he's really apologising to someone who's not there. And who, it looks like, will never be there.

"No, Merlin." Sam's voice permeates Merlin's pity party, because it's threaded with a steely excitement, the kind only heard once, maybe twice in a career. "We've found it."

He always, always figured he'd have to go back to make it work. Back to where Camelot used to be, which is now not even a pile of rocks but a stream and sheep and laughable talk of condos. So when Sam says it just has to be a sacred space, and the woods of the northwest US coast would work best, Merlin laughs outright.

"Yeah, sure. Fanny's your aunt, Bob's your uncle, abra cadabra--"

"Merlin." Sam cuts him off, tense like razor wire.

Dean's jaw jumps. "You'd better listen to him, buddy, because he only uses that tone of voice when he's about to whup your ass."

"I'm listening," Merlin protests, "I'm just not hearing anything that makes any sense."

"Which means you're not listening," Sam says matter-of-factly. "The woods on the west coast are older than you'd think, and made incredibly sacred by years of native worship. They'd be our best bet, beyond going to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, and that's a few more laws than I feel like breaking right now."

"Plus," Deans adds, "it's August."

Then he leans down to Merlin. "Look," his face turning blank and serious, "I don't care if you believe us. _We_ believe us, we believe these sources, and we sure as hell believe in the power behind this shit, so you're coming with us and you're not going to whine about it."

Merlin narrows his eyes, regarding him, feeling him out. He's not afraid of either of them--the idea's laughable, despite having by now witnessed them both dismembering any number of supernatural beings--but he does, he finds, respect them. "Right. Well. It's not like I was doing anything here, anyway."

"Exactly."

Merlin magics them there.

"Wait--the car!" Dean protests.

But Merlin just puts a hand on both their shoulders and gets them the hell out of North Dakota.

"Dude, I can't believe you just--"

"The car is here too, you absolute blithering idiot."

"...okay, then."

Then Merlin breathes in.

Sam was right. This place, wherever it is, is _ancient_. As ancient as the stones in Wiltshire. An ancient the likes of which Merlin hasn't felt in a very long while.

Sam's voice is quiet next to him. "Told you."

Merlin looks at him, smiling. "Yeah, yeah. I'll buy you a beer."

"Hey, I helped," Dean protests. "You're sure the car is here?"

Merlin rolls his eyes. "In the parking lot of the nearest motel, even."

Dean is clearly impressed. "Wow."

"This ain't my first rodeo," Merlin deadpans, his American accent pretty spot-on. (He's watched a _lot_ of telly, okay.) The brothers both laugh.

A bird flies away from the sound, and their laughter dies.

"Okay," Dean mutters after a moment. "We ready to rock and roll?"

Merlin glances at Sam, then back at the looming, damp, moss-laden woods around them. "Yeah, I guess."

Dean points a finger at him. "You can't be guessing, here, pal. This is do-or-die, Marine-style shit, here. Hoo-rah."

"What does that even mean?"

"I don't know, but it seems to mean a lot. So let's do this."

They don't stumble over the words. They've practiced. And Merlin must give off a desperation that's palpable.

He knows he feels it.

And then he feels _it_.

The old magic.

Avalon.

Sam's careful design on the forest floor, three rising voices, Merlin in the center with both hands to the sky--in supplication, desperation--

There's a roaring, a rushing in the silence, and Merlin hears a tidal wave, an earthquake, a lion, a dragon--

A king.

Of course, what he's left with, when nature wrenches back control once again, is merely a man. A man with fine blonde hair and a pale cheek. A shivering, slick, feverish, unconscious man, whom Merlin gathers in his arms, heedless of the forest detritus beneath them, heedless of the tears and sweat blinding him.

He doesn't need to be able to see. He knows this body.

Sam is there with a blanket for Arthur, as planned, and Dean holds out a bottle of water. Merlin knows he's supposed to take it, but he all he can do is look at it. It's so out of place, near Arthur. The feeling of anachronism takes his breath away.

Dean shakes his head and crouches down, twisting off the cap and reaching out to see if Arthur will drink. He does, but he doesn't wake, and Merlin is thankful even as it twists his gut. Arthur's body may be here, but it's new, it's fragile, and his mind--

Merlin skates a hand over Arthur's brow, whispering every healing spell he has ever learned. As if any of them will help.

"Let's get him out of here," Dean mutters. "Think you can do it, Merlin?"

Merlin breathes in, breathes in Arthur and the forest and the ages. His magic is depleted, but pulsing, renewed by the form in his arms, as he knew it would be.

He nods.

"All right," Dean says, clearly not convinced of Merlin's remaining strength, and ready to go to Plan B. Merlin hadn't even known there _was_ a Plan B. "On the count of three, we do the hokey pokey and we turn ourselves--"

Merlin holds Arthur hard to him, and closes his eyes.

"--around," Dean finishes, then looks around the dingy motel room where they've landed. It's as they've planned, as they've been running for months, years in the brothers' case, but Merlin is suddenly ashamed. He wants Arthur to come awake in a lavish, opulent, comfortable place. A home.

A violent shiver from the man in his arms reorients him to the here and now. "Arthur--" he starts, taking the blanket from his own shoulders--a blanket he doesn't remember acquiring--and adding it to the new skin of Arthur.

"Thank you," he says quietly, glancing up to where the brothers stand, watching, tense. Waiting.

"Of course," Sam says softly.

Dean rubs a hand on his neck awkwardly. "Yeah, sure. So that's him?"

Merlin almost can't speak through the roughness in his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, it's him."

"And he's…" Dean trails off, and Merlin's certain he's making a vague gesture but refuses to look away from Arthur's face.

"Alive?"

"Well, yeah, that, and..." Surely another hopeless gesture.

"Himself? I have no way of knowing unless he…" He forces the words out. " _Until_ he wakes up."

"Alright. Let's get him into bed, okay?"

Merlin shakes his head minutely, reflexively. He's not ready. He's not ready to let go.

He feels Sam's hand on his shoulder, huge and comforting. "Let's get you both into bed."

Merlin nods once, then focuses. He lifts Arthur up, magic swirling around and through them. Just as he'd done back then, with Arthur's life bleeding out through his maille.

Only this time, there's no blood. There's no smell or screams of dying men, no heartbreaking panic that Merlin is too late.

Instead, there's something akin to hope tapping at his breast.

Merlin has waited a long, long time. He thought he had it down pretty well-- how to wait, how to be patient.

But the next three days prove to be the longest of his _life_.

Arthur sleeps. Arthur twitches. Arthur shifts around and noses into Merlin's side, because Merlin is sitting up, or, once, his armpit. Sometimes he settles in, and sometimes he doesn't, but even unconscious, he never backs away from Merlin.

Merlin takes heart at that, even as the second night ticks over into the third day.

"Seriously," Dean mutters over breakfast. "I can't stand this. And it's not even _my_ \--" He pauses, regarding Merlin with a chagrined expression "Friend."

_He's my friend!_

They don't talk about it what they'll do if Arthur never wakes up, or wakes up not remembering anything, or not himself, or-- Well, they don't talk about it.

They talk of dreams. "I know a lady in DC," Dean says offhandedly on the second day.

"Seems like you know a lady in every state, Dean."

Dean smiles, cocks his head. "Be that as it may—which it may just be—I figure you'll be wanting him to see the historical highlights, and there's no better place to start."

"All right," Merlin says, nodding. Even if the lady ends up being a bust, it's still a start. And Arthur will love all the war monuments and patriotism.

If Merlin can figure out how to explain what a gun is.

He sighs, looking down at where his hand is resting on Arthur's pale shoulder. He basically only leaves the bed when absolutely necessary, and only then because otherwise Sam will literally wrestle him into the toilet or to the table to eat. Merlin could stop him with magic, sure, but logically he knows he has to attend to at least the basics.

Dean clears his throat. "Oh, and Merlin, this lady friend? Don't lie to her. It'll only land you in a world of hurt."

"I think that could be said of most people," Merlin replies, only a smidge bitterly.

Dean shakes his head. "For real. Just trust me."

"She magical?"

"Just about. Scary smart. Hermione smart, and hot as hell. So just… watch your back."

"Yeah, all right," Merlin says absently, distracted by Arthur reaching out a hand and grasping at nothing. Merlin clasps the hand, weaves their fingers together, and settles them on his thigh, which seems to settle Arthur.

Merlin doesn't have to look at Dean to know the expression that's on his face. "Bite me," he says eloquently.

Dean just chuckles.

Arthur is unconscious, until that afternoon, when Sam and Dean are out on a routine salt-and-burn ghost hunt to chase away cabin fever, and then he isn't any more.

At which point, as luck would have it, Merlin is asleep.

He feels a poking, first. Like, a really annoying one, poking at his side, and with half-asleep logic thinks he's fallen asleep on his phone (again; he just can't keep track of it, but he also can't live without it for some reason), until he cracks open one eye--

And sees Arthur looking down at him, a tight, accusatory, near panicked look on his face.

"Oh my God," Merlin says, dumbly. He'd thought about this moment maybe a few times in the last, oh, millionty years, and yet he can't process it with any sort of elegance. He simply lunges over and wraps his arms around Arthur, heedless of Arthur's perhaps fragile state, just so bloody glad to _have_ him.

He feels the polite cough near his ear, and pulls back, his neck heating up. "Sorry. I just. I can't even believe you're here."

Immediately, Arthur's mouth opens and a stream of language comes out, old as hell and Merlin blinks, his ears almost hurting, tingling, like coming out of really cold air into a really hot bath.

"Just--Arthur--" But Arthur won't stop talking, and starts gesturing with alarm at the space around them, which, yes, makes sense, but Merlin needs him to shut _up_ for a second--

Merlin claps a hand over Arthur's mouth. His eyes, wide and blue and stubborn and frightened, stare at Merlin, and a hand reaches up to encircle Merlin's wrist-- but he doesn't pull. Just holds tight, as if Merlin's the only thing keeping him from flinging into a thousand pieces.

Merlin's magic asserts itself, and the spell he'd prepared centuries ago tumbles out thoughtlessly but flawlessly.

Arthur's mouth shuts abruptly, and Merlin freaks out for a moment that instead of modernising Arthur's language, he's taken it all away. "Arthur?" he says, hesitantly.

But Arthur has no such issue. "Merlin? Holy sh--"

Merlin claps a hand over his mouth again. "Figures the first thing out of your mouth would be a swear."

Arthur's eyes get even wider and he shakes his head emphatically, effectively dislodging Merlin's hand. "I apologise," he says quickly, his voice rough. "I usually am not one for course language, but--"

A laugh bubbles up in Merlin's chest, almost choking him. "You've just been brought back from the dead, Arthur. That sort of thing would cause anyone to be a little uncouth."

"Well." Arthur blinks. "All right, but still."

"Yes. Still, you are Arthur Pendragon?"

"I am."

Merlin realises he's grinning, and must look like an idiot. And he doesn't care at all.

It's _Arthur_.

Arthur who's looking like he's fighting the urge to curse some more, his jaw ticking and a stunningly familiar 'you're an idiot and you're dangerously close to punishment' look on his face. "Merlin."

"Yes," Merlin replies, still grinning.

"Care to _explain_?"

There's panic fighting with the trust in his eyes, and Merlin sobers at it.

"You died," he starts, unsure of where to begin.

"Yes, thanks," Arthur replies dryly. "I remember that part."

"And then we brought you back to life."

"'We'?"

"Erm, yeah, I-- I tried to do it on my own, of course, for years--"

"How many years?"

"Erm."

"Merlin."

"Fourteen hundred? Give or take because frankly I didn't manage to get it on my calendar the first time round."

Arthur looks like his newly-spelled language abilities don't quite know how to compute 'calendar,' but he's not dumb, nor is he easily side-tracked. "Fourteen _hundred_ years? That explains your strange clothing, not to mention this bizarrely over-decorated room."

Merlin laughs, delighted to have Arthur's snobbery back in full force. "Yes, it does."

"So it's now--" Arthur squints; Merlin can practically see the cogs whirring in his head, and it pleases him. "Two thousand and--"

"Fourteen, yes."

"That's a long time." Arthur's face is still somewhat grave, and expectant.

"It is," Merlin starts, nearly reaching out but pulling back at the last second. "I tried, please believe me, I did, from the very first day-- very first day without you." He swallows. He doesn't think about that time. Ever. "But it never worked, so I figured it wasn't time yet."

"Wasn't time?"

"Oh, yeah, the-- the dragon told me, right as you were-- right before the end, not to worry because you would come back."

"Would I?" Arthur says, his eyebrow raised and a smug expression sneaking onto his face.

"You would come back when Albion's need was greatest."

"Hmm."

"And the world's as shitty a place as it's ever been but you never deigned come back, so I kept waiting."

"Doing what?"

"...things," Merlin hedges. He continues before Arthur can argue. "And then last year I met these two blokes, brothers really, who are--"

The door flies open. Hand immediately out, Merlin shifts to position himself in front of Arthur, who has drawn back, muscles coiled tight against the headboard.

"Oh, good," Sam says calmly as he sees them there. He puts the bags of take-away down on the tiny hotel table. "I got enough for four, just on a hunch."

Dean is not nearly so polite. "Holy shit," he says. "Guess that whole rising on the third day thing isn't just for Jesus."

"Nice, Dean," Merlin admonishes, but he's smiling--of course he is--as he turns to Arthur. "It's all right, Arthur. These are the people that helped me get you back here. That--" He tries to think of a word for 'snarky' that Arthur will understand. "--impertinent one is called Dean, and the tall, rational one--"

"Hey!"

"--is his brother Sam. Sam, Dean, this is Arthur."

Sam nods. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, pleasure," Dean adds. "Now get some clothes on and let's eat."

They'd put Arthur in pyjamas three days ago, of course, but if Merlin knows Arthur at all, he'll want something else for company, even company so common as Dean and Sam.

So he finds the bag with the extra clothes in it, then looks from it to Arthur. "Erm..."

"Yes?" Arthur says, his gaze assessing Merlin's hesitance. "Oh. Is it not customary in this time for a king to be assisted in dressing?"

Merlin ignores Dean's laugh, and holds up the clothes. "Not as such, no."

Arthur takes the bag with squared shoulders. "Well, I'm sure I can manage."

Merlin grins, remembering another time, another place. "The privvy--called a toilet now, or bathroom--is through that door. Call me if you get stuck."

First thing they hear is the toilet flushing, and a curse.

Merlin looks over at the brothers. They're all grinning.

Then they get about two minutes of peace before they hear Merlin's name bellowed through the bathroom door. He exchanges smirks with Dean, and gets up to assist.

"The boxers go under the jeans, Arthur," he calls when he reaches the door.

The door opens, and Merlin's grin freezes. He has to swallow quickly because Arthur's clad only in said boxers, and that body of his has certainly not felt the effects of a thousand years of non-use. It's all there and it's gloriously _alive_ and it's covered in only white cotton and Merlin has to take a second to let the knots in his chest dissipate.

"Okay," he says finally. "What seems to be the problem?"

"The _problem_ ," Arthur begins, then stops. He glances at Dean and Sam, who wave back overly-cheerfully, then grabs Merlin's wrist and hauls him into the bathroom, closing the door forcefully behind them. "The _problem_ , my not-so-helpful manservant, is this-- this _metal contraption_!" And he holds the jeans up by the zipper.

Merlin tries not to laugh, he really does. "Rude," Arthur mutters, then shoves the jeans at Merlin. "Just show me."

"How about some manners?" Merlin says cheekily, but he takes the jeans, shakes them out, then nods. "In."

Arthur pulls a face. "In?"

He holds them out further. "You do remember how trousers work, correct?"

Arthur glares at him, but puts his hands on Merlin's shoulders and lifts a knee to step into the jeans. "I'm not thick, all right."

"I know. Trust me, I know."

"I have slain many large magical creatures, as well."

Merlin coughs as Arthur manages the second leg. "Yeah, about that…"

Arthur stops, mid motion of drawing the jeans the rest of the way up, and stares at him, horror dawning on his face. "No! I mean, I knew some of it was you, finally, but--" He makes a face, a face that on anyone else would be a pout but Arthur is far too regal.

Merlin tilts his head with a shrug. "Sorry?"

Arthur purses his lips. "Well. I should be thankful, I suppose."

Merlin blinks. "That's… awfully mature of you."

"Well," Arthur says, a hint of a smile playing around his lips, "I _am_ over a thousand years old."

Merlin laughs and shakes his head. "And yet you still can't figure out a zipper. Oh, come here."

Arthur obeys, and Merlin's hands end up on his hips as Arthur's hands land back on his shoulders. 

Suddenly the bathroom is much too small. Christ. Merlin does not remember this being quite as-- as much of a problem, back then.

A dozen centuries of living every life imaginable can do that to a bloke, though.

His hands manage not to shake as he approaches the task. "It's called a zipper. You start at the bottom, see." He glances up to make certain Arthur is watching, and their closeness, Arthur's look of concentration, catches his breath a little. He tries very hard to only think about the zipper. "Then you pull this bit up, et voila."

"What was that?"

"That was French."

"A language from the continent?"

Merlin nods, biting his cheek to not laugh. "I speak all the Romance languages, Japanese, the major Chinese dialects, Russian, and can manage passable Tagalog."

"Braggart."

"If you got it, flaunt it."

"If I what now?"

Merlin grins. "You have so much slang to learn. Aren't you excited?"

"Thrilled." Arthur's stomach grumbles, and he looks up at Merlin, slightly surprised. "Interesting."

"We tried to get you to eat, while you were… recovering, but we weren't too successful."

"Still an incapable servant," Arthur mocks, but his eyes hold mirth.

Merlin fakes a scowl, but it fades as he realises that now would be a good time. "Arthur…"

"Yes?"

"Well…"

"Spit it out. I'm starving."

"See, the thing is… Here, now, you're--" He sighs, then decides it just has to get said. "You're not a king anymore. And I'm certainly not your manservant."

Arthur's face is unreadable, but his jaw is tight. "Does Albion not have a king in this time?"

"It's called the United Kingdom now, more or less, and yes, there's a monarch. But they don't really do much, and at any rate it's not like you can stride up to the palace and lay claim to the throne." He laughs, a bit weakly. "They'd chuck you right out."

"Hmm." Arthur's gaze is calculating.

"Also… We're not anywhere near it."

Arthur's eyebrows go up to his hairline. "Well, those brothers did have accents the likes of which I've never heard, so I suppose that makes sense. How far are we, exactly?"

"Erm. A little less than eight thousand kilometers?"

Arthur looks at him. "That's helpful."

"I know, that's why I wasn't going to bring it up yet."

"Clever."

"As always."

They blink at each other for a moment; Merlin's watching Arthur digest this latest bit of madness. Finally, he lets out a controlled breath. "Then what am I supposed to do? Here in a foreign land in a bizarre time? What am I here for?"

"I don't know," Merlin says honestly. He searches Arthur's face. It's his Arthur, it truly is, but it's a new time, a new place, and a new purpose. Whatever that purpose might be. "I don't know, but I don't care. I'm just glad to have you back."

Arthur looks pleased, then realises he's approaching dangerous levels of sentiment and begins to look uncomfortable instead. Merlin would be put out but it's so _Arthur_ that he's near laughing instead.

Arthur just grunts, his neck staining a suspicious pink, and heads for the door. "Don't go all emotional on me, Merlin. You know how I hate it when you act like a girl."

Merlin follows, not bothering to hide his eye roll or smile. "Yes, Arthur."

Arthur pauses, the door open and his hand on the doorknob, a slightly wistful look on his face. "No 'sire'? Not even for old time's sake?"

"Oh, no. You are just the same as me, here," he says firmly. "Arthur."

And he pushes the once and future king through the door.

Luckily, the brothers have brought back barbecue, so Merlin doesn't have to jump the hurdle of enchiladas or frozen dinners just yet. Fire-roasted meat is a universal constant. He even has to explain to Sam and Dean that even kings had no qualms about eating with their hands in Arthur's time, and Arthur looks bemused. "Do people not normally do that, now?"

"Nah," Dean says, wiping his mouth. "Nowadays we have something called a spork."

Arthur looks at him, his eyebrow raised, then glances at Merlin. Merlin shakes his head, a small grin on his face, and Arthur takes it as the 'don't bother' that it is and turns back to his food. Merlin had started him small, portion-wise, not sure what his new-yet-old body could take.

Sure enough, Arthur ceases to actually eat after a short while, although he's polite of course so Merlin doesn't notice for a bit. (American homestyle ribs are something of which he may have become overly fond in the last year.) "You alright?"

"Yes, fine. These people like their food awfully salty."

Merlin suppresses a laugh. "Salt is cheap now, Arthur."

Arthur's eyebrows go up in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"And cinnamon? What's the value of cinnamon?"

"We could go out and buy you a jar of it right now if you want, for cheap."

"Really!" Arthur sits back in his chair. "Fascinating." Then he frowns, and plucks at his clothes. Dean had rustled up a t-shirt and jeans at very nearly the right size. "This garb is ill-fitting, though."

Merlin laughs outright this time. "There was a textile revolution, clothes are made by machines so they're more plentiful but less personable… and yes, far less delightful than the ones your royal tailors made for you, I'm sure."

Arthur nods, then frowns again. "Well, the trousers are certainly--" He shifts in a very pointed way. "A bit restrictive."

Dean snorts. "Yeah, jeans can have that problem. You'll learn how to rearrange the goods."

Merlin almost pinches the bridge of his nose, but remembers his fingers are covered in barbecue sauce just in time. "Thank you, Dean. And I'll be sure to let you give that lesson."

Dean throws a napkin at him.

After dinner, Merlin puts on his jacket. "I'm going out to get some things, all right?"

Arthur looks up from the book he's reading, a thick tome that Merlin had bought ahead of time. It purported to be a Shortened History of the World, complete with maps; Merlin had just been hoping it would provide the basics, as he was not super thrilled at the idea of having to explain the Renaissance to anybody.

Arthur's newly-reanimated brow is furrowed as he looks at Merlin. "Everything all right?"

"Fine, it's fine. I just need… some things."

Arthur's eyebrow goes up. "Should I go with you?"

"No."

"Why not? I'm curious to see--"

"It's too soon, and I swear I'm not going anywhere interesting."

Arthur purses his lips, but he doesn't argue those points. "All right, then maybe you need some protection."

Merlin cocks his head. "Wizard? Remember?"

Arthur colours slightly. "Yes, I remember. I was just being polite. Go away now."

An hour later, Merlin comes into the room, walks up to the bed, and unceremoniously empties his messenger bag of its load of books.

Arthur sits up immediately, his eyes so wide it's almost comical.

"A library? You have a library?"

Merlin shakes his head. "No, I don't personally. The government does, a lot of them, and citizens can use them, borrow books to take home and read."

Arthur seems impressed. "That's quite an idea."

"I'm sure you would've thought of it sooner or later."

"I'm sure I would've."

Arthur spends the next two days reading every book Merlin gives him, and a few extras. ("No, Dean, Arthur does not need to read _Fifty Shades of Grey_. Nor Harry Potter." He recants on both, but for very different reasons and not till much, much later.)

Arthur asks questions incessantly, most of which, admittedly, he's not really expecting Merlin to answer. ("Why do people insist on invading Russia just before winter? How can they not see what a ridiculous tactic that is?") Sometimes he'll ask personal questions, like if Merlin was around when a the first book was printed, or what being in an igloo is really like, or if the stadiums in Rome feel like haunted houses.

And sometimes Merlin will answer, will tell stories. Sometimes Arthur, miraculously, will listen.

"Yes," he says honestly to that last one. "I've been to the Parthenon, and all that, and up to Thessaloniki where there's a church that's been there since God was a boy--literally--and it feels--" He stops, tries to think of how to describe the indescribable. "It feels like--" He stops, looks at Arthur, but Arthur's face is open and curious. "I could feel you there. Old magic, and your ancestors, and I would go, just to-- to remember."

Arthur is silent for a while. "I'm glad you did," he says, clearly trying not to sound too invested but mostly failing. "I'd hate to be forgotten."

Merlin laughs quietly. "Oh, Arthur. Not possible." He looks at him, then, his eyes twinkling. "No one could forget such a prat."

The morning of the last day of the first week, Arthur starts talking--well, whinging, really--about going outside.

" _Mer_ lin."

" _No_ , Arthur."

"But I'm sick of being cooped up like a hibernating bear."

"I know. I know and I'm sorry but you're just--" He gestures helplessly. "A lot happened in fourteen hundred years! You've barely got started learning about it! We can't just--" Gestures again. "You know--"

"You're like a baby kitten," Dean cuts in. "We gotta let you get used to just the bathroom first, then we can let you roam the whole house without you freaking out and peeing on everything."

"...thank you."

"You're probably ready to take a walk, though, yeah?"

Arthur is clearly trying not to look too eager but he's practically twitching with it. "I want to see trees."

"Uh…" Dean pauses. "Okay. Not what I expected, but okay. I'm sure we can find some trees without running into… trouble."

Arthur is shrewd, as always. "I'm assuming you're hesitating because you think I shall shrink back from the things I might see? Such as cars?"

Three sets of surprised eyes land on him. "What?" Merlin manages.

"I saw them, on the computer." There's more stunned silence, which Arthur then tries to fill by elaborating. "You know, the giant humming clamshell thing--" He mimes a laptop opening and shutting. "--with letters you push, that shows pictures--" He drops his hands. "Isn't that what it's called, Sam?"

Now all the gazes go to Sam, who looks back at them without a twitch. "I thought he should learn, okay?"

"What?!" Merlin cries. "I was working _up_ to that!"

"Why?" Arthur counters, far too reasonable, and Merlin remembers what a good statesman he'd made, once he'd grown up. "I assume you teach children to use them at an early age, and my cognitive and physical functions are far more advanced than a child's."

Merlin opens his mouth, then closes it again. "Fair point. I suppose I just thought you'd be suspicious, think it was-- Well. You know."

"Sorcery? Yes, well, I did, until Sam explained the basics."

"The basics. Of course." Merlin's mind is whirring. "So you're ready to go outside? You're--"

"Merlin," Arthur says, walking up to Merlin, that look on his face like back then. Back when they were about to do something dangerous. Only, the words come out in a new order. "I have you to protect me, don't I?"

Merlin swallows against the knot in his throat. "Of course."

Arthur grins. "Then let's go."

All in all, Arthur holds it together for much longer than Merlin was expecting.

And the trigger is something Merlin never would've seen guessed, although in retrospect… Well, Merlin's lived a lot of his life in retrospect.

They've been staying at a squat little motel used mostly by hunters and backpackers, nearest to the edge of the national forest as you can get without paying fees, so there isn't much human action, just some beat-up pickups and a few SUVs that look like they might be used as intended rather than as suburban assault vehicles.

The air is cold, startlingly so after the comfort of the motel room. Merlin reaches for the zip on Arthur's down jacket automatically, but Arthur bats his hands away. Merlin watches, his chest warm and a smile threatening his face, as Arthur pretty much glares the zipper into submission.

"There's a city park about ten minutes that way?" Sam says, thumbing in a general easterly direction as Merlin locks the motel room door behind them. He and Dean are coming along, because he's kind like that and because Dean is waiting for some schadenfreude.

He gets more than he bargained for.

There aren't even any cars on the road, just in the parking lots. Arthur touches them, almost clinically, but clearly fascinated.

"Okay, buddy, enough fondling the merchandise. Soccer mom, twelve o'clock."

Not that Arthur knows what any of that means, but he gets the hint and turns away towards the field full of playground toys.

The park is just like any other tiny town park, really: pleasant during the day and creepy during the night. Or maybe Merlin's simply developed a hunter's sensibilities, but he knows that's what Sam and Dean are thinking, too, as they wander around, letting Arthur poke at the swings and the merry-go-round and the giant slide. The last of which he enjoys immensely, after Merlin demonstrates how it's done, neither of them caring that Dean is calling them names.

They sit at the bottom and laugh, joyously, short of breath from it all. Arthur picks up some sand and throws it at Merlin half-heartedly.

Then a small, cocoa-skinned child comes over to them. Looking Arthur in the eye, he reaches up, almost reverently, to touch his face.

"You'll save her," the child says quietly, so quietly Merlin almost doesn't hear. "You will."

Arthur freezes.

Then a woman comes and swoops up the child, an apologetically wary look on her face. "Jaime, don't do that," she admonishes the child as she carries him away. "You shouldn't trust strangers."

At once, Arthur is up and across the manicured grass at a rapid pace.

"Shit," Merlin mutters under his breath, following without thought, his hand already twitching. And sure enough, as soon as Arthur reaches the edge of trees, he lets loose, fists hitting rough bark with tearing _thunks_.

"Arthur!" Merlin cries, but it's of no use, so he mutters some words and suddenly Arthur's fists are hitting nothing but magic, nothing but the soft yet resilient bubble of protection, silence, and cloaking Merlin has thrown up around them.

"Hey!" Merlin hears distantly, tinnily, and he momentarily considers letting Sam and Dean in, but no. This is him and Arthur. No going back now.

He approaches warily. Old habits die hard, and he knows he'd still let Arthur hit him long before he'd hit back, with magic or otherwise.

Arthur stops on his own, stops when he realises it's no longer a tree he's hitting. Stops and stares at the nearly-invisible wall in front of him. "You're doing this," he says without turning.

"Yes."

"Stop it."

"Arthur--"

"Just fucking _stop_ ," he says hoarsely, turning on Merlin. "I can't do it. I can't."

Merlin can feel the hot breath of his words, can see the sheen of liquid on his forehead and in his eyes. He takes ahold of Arthur's shoulders, ignoring the flinch. "Arthur. You can." He squeezes, none too gently. "You have to."

Arthur deflates. "I-- I have to," he echoes, knowing it's true and hating every word and being willing to do nothing else but believe it. And it's so reminiscent, so parallel with another time, another Arthur, that Merlin's magic surges.

He breathes in, holds it. Steadies himself. Arthur needs him to be the sane one, all things considered. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, but sure. "The good news, though, is that you know you can, this time."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Because you're here?"

Merlin nods. "Just like then. We did so many good things, Arthur."

"We did do, didn't we?"

Merlin manages a smile. "And this time I won't have to hide anything from you." He makes a cheeky face. "Wait till you see what I can do with some napkins and a dove."

Arthur smiles crookedly back; Merlin more feels it than sees it from where their foreheads are nearly pressed together. He does, however, hear a rather incessant pounding. "Jesus, Dean," he mutters, gesturing over his shoulder absently.

"What the hell, man," Dean admonishes as soon as he and Sam are inside the bubble.

Merlin shakes his head but he doesn't move from Arthur. "Sorry to leave you out, gentlemen, but--"

"No, we get it," Dean cuts him off. "I just think we should probably skedaddle before Princess here destroys any more nature. Soccer moms are kinda nutty."

Merlin chuckles. "Fair point." He glances around, then moves enough to put out his hand, palm down. "Just--" He gestures, and the rest of them put their hands in with his, like they're about to play a football match.

"What is this, Captain Planet?" Dean mutters. Merlin grins. Arthur just has the time to ask 'Captain what, now?' before they're whisked away in a smear of magic.

Dean's talking as soon as they hit the motel room. "Who's 'she'? Who was that kid yammering about?"

Merlin sighs, gathering up he and Arthur's things with a few flicks of his wrist. He's ready to get the hell out of there. He doesn't even care that it might not be the smartest decision. "I don't know."

"You don't know." Dean couldn't squeeze more doubt in his voice if he tried.

"Honestly," Merlin says, shrugging. "There was somebody, a long time ago, but if it took a wizard as powerful as me this long and so much help to get _him_ back, I doubt she could've--"

"No." Arthur cuts him off, his face a study in repressed anger. "Kids say daft things, right?"

Sam looks at Merlin. Merlin looks at Dean. Dean shrugs. "Yeah, sure, sometimes…"

"But this didn't feel like one of those times, did it?" Sam asks, in that way that he has of breaking bad news without getting punched.

Arthur shakes his head once, sharply, but it takes a while for the word to come out. "No."

Silence reigns. Uncomfortable silence. "Well," Merlin says after a moment. "We don't know, okay? And we won't know. That's just the way it goes." The rest of them look at him, annoyed. "I've been doing this for a few hundred years, all right? Either shit comes to fruition, or it doesn't, end of story."

Dean snorts. "And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime," Merlin says, squaring his jaw and looking at Arthur, "we have some history to see."

Arthur perks up. "Yeah?"

Merlin's smile isn't forced. "Yeah. Grab your bags, we're going to Washington." Arthur blinks at him, and Merlin remembers he knows where they are. "The other Washington."

Arthur practically tuts. "Americans."

Merlin grins. "I know, right?"

Then Arthur's face lights up as he connects the dots. "Wait. We're going to the capitol? To see sights?"

"Yes. Whatever sights you'd like to see."

"I hear tell they have great sights."

"Wonderful sights."

"Okay," Dean cuts in, "get out of here before this turns into a musical."

Arthur looks at him. "What's a musical?"

"Something really, really g--"

Merlin has magicked them away before Dean can finish the sentence.

And he's still mid-eyeroll when they get to their destination. Which happens to be a men's toilet in Dulles airport.

"Merlin," Arthur starts.

"Yes, I know, it's rather ignominious, but it'll seem natural to find two blokes with luggage--"

"That's not it."

"Oh. What is it, then?"

Arthur purses his lips. "Never mind."

Merlin stares at him, then a corner of his mouth tugs upwards. "You… you wanted to fly, didn't you? On a plane?"

"I don't know what you mean," Arthur says shortly, hoisting his bag to his shoulder. "Shall we?"

Merlin maintains a serious tone, but he can't stop smiling. "Sure. Yes. Absolutely."

When they get to the curb, Merlin puts on a casual air. "I'd rather take a cab to our hotel--lodgings--if that's okay?"

"A what?"

He tries not to smile. "A hired automobile."

"Oh!" Arthur's voice betrays his glee before he can tamp it down. "Yes, I suppose that'll do. Do you have the coin for such a thing?"

Merlin just looks at him, not hiding his amusement this time. "Arthur."

"What?"

"Wizard."

"Right." Arthur nods, then gestures at the cab slowing down in front of them. "Go on, then. Do your magic."

They go to all of them, but Merlin likes the Lincoln Memorial the best. The giant man with his giant beard and his giant ideas, such a fascinating part of American history. Probably the only part Merlin had really cared about, while it was happening, a fact which intrigues Arthur.

"How can you even sympathise with both sides? Human slavery is an abomination, no matter what century you're in."

"If only it were that easy. Were your matters of state ever that easy?"

Arthur pauses, thinking. "No, I suppose not."

"And you didn't even have mass transportation then, or industry, or nearly dichotomous cultural structures, or any other number of other complicating factors."

"All right, all right."

"I'm not saying you wouldn't've done well, Arthur."

Arthur's face is tight. "I'm not sure I would've."

Merlin feels his heart tick over. Arthur and his nobility. "Well. No use wondering, is there? You about touristed-out?"

Arthur lets out a breath. "As much as I never thought I'd say it… yes?"

"Thank God, because if I have to hear one more fact about a dead white man, I might vomit."

"Merlin."

"What?"

"You're a dead white man, for all intents and purposes."

"Yeah, well, I'm sick of hearing about myself, too, trust me."

"Oh yeah? Are there any monuments?"

"Many, many books."

"Are there any monuments to me?"

"Don't be a wanker, I know you looked it up."

Arthur grins, claps him on the shoulder. "And don't think they're not all on my list of places to visit."

"Oh, I would not presume."

"I should hope not." Arthur looks at his watch--He'd demanded one as soon as he'd realised what they were--and looks at Merlin. "So what's next?"

"Next, we talk to a friend of Dean."

"That doesn't sound ominous at all."

"Don't be cheeky."

"This friend's not going to make us hunt anything, is he?"

"She, and no. I just want to ask her if she has any advice on where to take you that's not so, you know, bloody normal. Somewhere the locals go. Etcetera."

"Ah. Cab, then?"

Merlin shakes his head, suppressing a grin. Arthur has fallen in love with automobiles, and fallen _hard_.

As he flags down a taxi, Merlin can't say as he blames him.

It's a sleek lobby that has a montage of portraits and the words 'The Lightman Group' on the wall. Merlin, on a hunch, pulls out his phone, hits up Google, and curses a blue streak.

"What was that?" Arthur says, more amused than shocked, but still a little bit shocked.

"I'm going to kill Dean," Merlin mutters by way of an explanation, trying to decide whether he's going to let them step any further into the place.

"All right, not that surely everyone who comes into contact with him doesn't have that inclination, but why this time?"

"That was an astounding abuse of double-negatives."

"You're the one who gave me the language."

"Touche."

"Now answer the question."

"Well," Merlin hedges. "This woman that we're meeting, Dean's friend? She's a lying expert."

"She's an expert liar? Wouldn't that just be… an actress?"

"No, I mean, her professional vocation is to discern whether or not a person is lying to her."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Sticky wicket."

Merlin groans. "I never should've let you learn slang."

"Dunno what you mean." Arthur smiles, but it's got a bite to it. "Merlin, you're an excellent liar."

Merlin tries not to flinch. "Well. That's something. Because you're pants at it."

"What!"

"Pants. Shoddy. Bloody awful."

Arthur makes a cutting motion. "Alright, alright. But I would've thought that'd be a good thing."

"Sure, as long as you're always in a situation where you can tell the truth."

"Do I have anything to be lying about right now?"

"Besides me being an immortal wizard?"

"I hardly think that'll come up, do you?"

"And you being dead for fourteen hundred years and therefore having only scant knowledge of present culture?"

Arthur pauses. "Hmm, yes, that one could be more tricky."

"Maybe we should go."

"No," Arthur says stubbornly. "Let's see what happens. It's not like she's going to believe the truth, anyway, right? Even if she knew we weren't lying, she'd--well---"

"Think we're nutters? Yes, that sounds lovely."

"Sod it. We're staying anyway."

Merlin raises an eyebrow, but he's sort of pleased. "We are, are we?"

"We are."

"Because?"

"Because now it's a challenge." And with that, Arthur's striding down the hall.

Merlin sighs. "The more things change…" Then follows after.

"Hello," Arthur's saying to the receptionist when Merlin reaches him, "we're here to see Ms Ria Torres?"

"I see. And is she expecting you?"

Arthur looks at Merlin expectantly. "Well, not as such, no, but--"

"You're here for me?"

Merlin and Arthur both turn to find a gorgeous young woman with a dark eyebrow raised at them and a folder in her hand. "I'm Torres."

"Of course you are," Merlin says before he can stop himself.

"What does that mean?" she says sharply.

"We're friends of Dean Winchester's," Merlin says succinctly.

Torres purses her lips, but she's clearly trying not to laugh. "Alright then. Come with me."

She leads them through an open door into a dark room with a hundred or so monitors, all showing faces wearing varying expressions, blinking from one to the next. It makes Arthur flinch but Merlin's a bit fascinated. He's come across more than a few liars in his time. So has Arthur, but those stories ended even more badly. And he hasn't had a thousand years to get over it.

Sitting at one of the desks is a young man in an unfortunate plaid sweatervest. "Who's this, Torres?" He looks back and forth between them.

"Settle down, Loker, these are just some friends of a friend."

Arthur, ever the mindful diplomat, reaches out. "I'm called Arthur," he says as Loker shakes hands with him. "And this is Merlin."

That gets another raised eyebrow. Torres gives Arthur a look of genuine heterosexual appreciation that Merlin can't help but notice, then shrugs, putting her folder down and reaching over to pause a couple programs. The monitors quiet.

Loker takes this as his opportunity. "My name's Eli, and you--" He points to Arthur. "--are going to be a problem." He swivels in his chair until he's pointing at Merlin. "And you? Are going to be an even bigger one."

Merlin grins. Dean may have led them to the lion's den, but Merlin's been through worse. "Nah, mate, we're not here for any big purpose. We're just visiting the States for a bit, and thought we'd get a local's advice on what to see."

Torres nods. "There are lots of great things to do around here. Couple-y things, even. I'm sure I could ask a few of my married friends--"

"Erm," Merlin says eloquently, hoping maybe Arthur will be confused-- But he should know better.

"Did you just imply Merlin and I are a couple? As in, romantically--" Arthur's eyes are narrow, his mouth tight at the corners. "Sexually coupled?"

"Arthur," Merlin tries to interject, "don't worry about it, it's common now, here, it's an easy mistake--"

"Oh, it's not a mistake," says another voice, this one of a man, and an English man, of all things. Merlin and Arthur both swivel, stunned, to find the office door shutting behind a slightly greasy, not very well shaved middle-aged man staring at them, assessing but also sort of bored looking. He pauses for a moment, looking at them, then sits in a chair in front of a computer. Sprawls, really. "Or if it is a mistake, it's your mistake, I'm afraid."

"I do beg your pardon," Arthur starts.

Eli snorts. "And I thought _you_ sounded like a black and white movie," he says offhandedly to the older Englishman.

"I said I beg your pardon!" Arthur says again, and his fingers twitch as though looking for his sword. Suddenly Merlin can picture this all going to hell in a handbasket in about three point five seconds, so he steps between Arthur and the tactless bloke.

"Look," he says congenially, "my friend here is just back from holiday far, far east, and he's having a bit of trouble re-adjusting, so if you could just--"

The man sticks out his hand, though he doesn't rise. "I'm Cal Lightman, and you're an excellent liar."

Arthur covers a noise of surprise with a cough. A very pointed cough.

Merlin pauses, considering, then takes the two steps over. Lightman's handshake is as British as the rest of him. "I'm called Merlin, and thank you."

Lightman nods. "But you still want in this gentleman's trousers. _Mer_ lin."

Arthur sputters out an "I say!" but before he can advance, Merlin has turned and put a hand on his chest, looking him straight in the eye and giving him clear warning and assurance. He doesn't even need to add magic, although he's tempted, and the room is dark enough they probably wouldn't even notice his eyes flashing gold. Arthur searches his face, glances behind him at Lightman, then finally nods tersely, relaxing back just a fraction.

Merlin takes a deep breath before removing his hand and turning back to Lightman. "Listen, Mr Lightman, whatever you may want to project onto--"

"Oh, he's not projecting," a new lady's voice chimes in, this time a stunningly beautiful older white lady holding a gigantic petrol station soda container that clashes with her perfectly tailored dress. Merlin is starting to wish there was a bell on the door. "Cal has zero latent homosexual tendencies. I swear, he doesn't even register on the Kinsey scale." She leans in. "Trust me. Not projecting."

"I have to agree with Dr Foster," Torres says, neutrally but with a quirking eyebrow, and Merlin has to assume the older lady is said Dr Foster. "I mean, what you just did there, with the hand and the--" She shrugs. "Yeah."

"Me too," Eli says. "And we're trained in this stuff, really a lot. Sorry guys, but you should just get a hotel room and a fifth of tequila and let it happen."

Merlin feels his _own_ fingers twitch. It'd be so easy to give them all tails.

"Not that I know what tequila is," Arthur hisses at him, "but are all Americans this…perversely focused?"

"Yes," he replies tersely. Then he turns back to the group. "Look! Thanks everyone for your thoughtful commentary, but we're not romantically involved. We're friends. Good friends."

Lightman is giving him a new, even more shrewd look. "So he doesn't know that you're gay?"

Merlin freezes.

Lightman tuts. "Great friends you are. Must've been some far out holiday."

"You have no idea," Merlin mutters without thinking.

Eli seems genuinely puzzled. "I don't get it. The way you two act around each other, anybody can tell in like five seconds."

Merlin snaps. "You," he says, pointing to Eli, "need to stop talking for more than fifteen seconds. You," he says, pointing to the Foster woman, "need to stop looking at us like we're adorable, don't think I can't see it. You," he says, pointing to Torres, "did not need to lead us straight into an interrogation, and you!" he says finally, pointing to Lightman. "Well, you're just a wanker."

Lightman nods. "True." Then he glances behind Merlin, and his lips curl into a smile that's not at all devoid of wickedness. "But I think you'll find that's not your biggest problem right now."

Sure enough, he hears Arthur's voice, sounding puzzled and angry and even a bit hurt. "Merlin?"

Merlin closes his eyes. He takes in a breath. Then he turns around and tries his best calm yet charming face. "Can we discuss this later?"

"You're… a homosexual?"

Merlin smothers a wince. "Oh, honestly, must you--" But Arthur's face is rigid, waiting for Merlin to betray him once more. Merlin promised he'd never lie to him again, and also finds he respects him too much to prevaricate.

He exhales. "Yes. Yes, I am."

Arthur shakes his head. "But-- There were girls--"

"Fourteen _hundred_ years ago, Arthur, and did you not notice how I was never serious about any of them?"

Arthur shrugs. "Figured you were too busy, what with…" He gestures vaguely at himself, then winces.

Merlin ignores Eli's amused noise. "Saving your arse all the time? Yeah, that's also true. But listen, fourteen hundred years is enough time to suss out one's personality traits pretty clearly. I'm sorry to spring it on you like this," he says with a glare around the room. None of them look the least bit repentant. "But I suppose I was going to have to tell you sooner or later."

Arthur doesn't reply right away. His brow is furrowed. "I'm not sure what to say."

Merlin shakes his head. "You don't have to say anything. I'm still me."

Arthur's eyes are narrow. "Is that even possible, after fourteen hundred years?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Merlin shrugs. "I still don't like coriander. And I'm still hopeless about romance, so you needn't worry." Because the world had always been Arthur, even seven hundred years after Arthur's death. Merlin had dallied, of course, but it was always just that. He was too focused. Too caught up in the business of waiting.

"That much is true," Lightman cuts in. "Because otherwise you wouldn't be here, right? You'd be in a hotel room somewhere, shagging each other's brains out."

"Crude," Arthur mutters.

"You have no idea," Lightman replies without a hint of bother.

"But beyond your uncouth manners," Arthur continues, "I find it unfeasible that you would say such a thing."

"Why?" Lightman asks, his eyebrows up slightly. "Because you're not gay?"

Arthur pulls himself up. "Of course I'm not!" Then he glances at Merlin, and guilt lines his face. "I mean, not that--"

He's so distraught, and confused, and Merlin can't stand it. "It's fine, Arthur, I know you don't mean any insult."

"Never."

"And it's alright-- I mean, you managed with--" Merlin pauses, mindful of the small crowd. "--the other thing, so I should think me dating men would be nothing."

Arthur doesn't reply. Merlin hasn't a clue what to do with that.

"But it's not nothing, is it?" Lightman says, approaching Arthur. "Oh, you're right twitchy about this, eh? It's okay to share him as long as you're sharing him with women, is that it? Because none of them would understand him the way you do?" Arthur still doesn't reply, but his face must do something significant because the whole of the group murmurs. "Bulls-eye."

"Beg pardon," Arthur says stiffly.

"Oh, sure," Lightman replies blithely. "Sorry. They're called micro-expressions, tiny little facial movements that we make without conscious thought, and it's my job--" Lightman gestures round at the group. "Our job to be able to read them. We know what we're doing, and we're not taking the piss. I know this is kind of rocking your world right now, but I think you'll feel much better once you get it all sorted."

"Get what sorted, exactly? That Merlin and I--"

"Are two sides of the same coin?" Lightman supplies.

"Fuck you," Merlin cuts in instantly, his voice hard, and even Arthur is clearly a little taken aback by his vehemence. But his brain is on fire -- That bloody dragon and its bloody taunts -- This isn't possibly what it could've meant, is it?

Lightman just continues on, oblivious--or perhaps impervious--to the havoc he's wreaking. "Not that I believe in such nonsense, but it seems as though you lot do, and I know she does--" He points a thumb out at Foster. "--so you might as well buy into it with regards to this--" He points a finger in their general direction and makes a circular motion with it. "--situation."

"All right, that's enough!" Merlin shouts, beyond annoyed. All the heads turn to him. He jerks his chin at Arthur, then moves to leave. "We're done here."

Arthur catches at his arm. "Wait, I--"

Merlin shakes his head sharply. "No. This isn't good for you, and it certainly is of no use to me." He nods perfunctorily at Torres and the group from the doorway. "Thank you, but no thank you. We'll find someone else to show us around DC."

He heads down the hall and out of the building, angrier than he's been in hundreds of years. Arthur's behind him, thought not nearly as angry, but Merlin doesn't care. "No, you know what?" he throws out. "I'm sick of DC. It's humid and it's crime-ridden and it's full of ridiculous--ridiculous--"

Arthur has a firm hold on his arm by the time they're out the front doors. "Merlin, for the love of--"

"What, Arthur?" Merlin says roughly, spinning in his grip. "What could you possibly want to hear right now?"

Arthur flinches, and Merlin regrets it for a split second. "I want to hear the truth."

"I think we've had enough truth for one evening, yeah?"

"No. Two sides of the same coin? Why did that send you round the bend?"

Merlin inhales quickly. "You don't want the answer to that question."

"I wouldn't ask it otherwise. Merlin. Answer me."

Merlin huffs and crosses his arms. "I don't have to any more, you know."

Arthur shakes his head and goes for the jugular. "You're my friend."

Merlin's jaw tightens. He doesn't want to. Oh, how he doesn't want to. But. "The dragon," he says finally.

Arthur's brow furrows. "What about it?"

"He said-- He said that. He said you and I--"

"Were lovers?"

"Were two sides of the same coin, yeah."

Arthur studies him, his expression tight. "All those years ago."

"Yeah."

"But-- I barely knew you then. I wasn't even king."

"You weren't even crown prince yet, the first time he said it."

"What the--"

"Why d'you think I kept it from you?"

"Which? The fact that people have thought we were destined from the beginning, or the fact that you've admitted you're a--a--"

"Poofter, Arthur, you can say it."

Arthur's face looks like he's tasted something awful. "No."

"Arthur--"

Arthur's shaking his head, his hand up as if to ward Merlin off. "No. I can't. Not right now. Not yet. Just-- I'm going."

Merlin stops short, then sighs. "You can't just go out there on your own, you know, you'll--"

"I'm going back to the hotel, you overprotective tosser. Just--don't follow me, all right?"

"Arthur--"

"Merlin, I know you're not my servant anymore, but you at least claim to be my friend, so please, for fuck's sake, just go away."

Merlin feels the evening air stagnate in his lungs. "All right."

"I have your number in my--thingy."

"Mobile."

"Yes. That. I have it. I'll be fine. Just… I'll ring you."

"Okay."

Arthur's gaze is weighted. Merlin suddenly feels exhausted. "I will."

"I know."

"All right."

Merlin watches him walk away, but not without lifting a hand and whispering a protective spell.

Old habits. They die hard.

Six hours later, he's bored as fuck. Apparently his self-entertainment skills have evaporated since Arthur came back into his life. Arthur with his questions, with his high-handedness, with his inability to use a zipper.

He exits his current game of Candy Crush (level 487, thanks very much) and touches the screen a few more times before holding the mobile up to his ear with a sigh. He can't believe his life has come to this.

"Joe's Crematorium, you kill 'em, we grill 'em."

"Lovely, Dean."

"Merlin! How's it hanging?"

"Ah, you Americans and your charming colloquialisms."

"You love it."

"Maybe."

"What's up?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, that's why you called me. Because nothing's up."

"Can't I just… phone an old mate?"

"Says the guy whose birthday cake would literally outweigh him, what with all the candles."

"Fair point."

"So lemme guess. Is this about your own personal Leopold, Kate? How's the fish out of water rom-com going?"

"Don't even start."

Dean chuckles, but it's not unkind. "Ruh-roh, Raggy. What happened?"

"Well…" Merlin takes a deep breath. He kind of wishes he had a cigarette. "We saw Torres."

"Yeah?" Dean sounds delighted. "She's a fox, am I right?"

"Yeah, of course. She's also got a pack of friends."

"Warned ya, didn't I?"

"You warned me about _her_ , not her gang of unfriendly lie-busters."

Dean's laugh is full and hearty. "I'll tell her that, she'll want t-shirts made. So they called you on the 'foreign country' thing? Or what?"

"Erm, no, surprisingly." And it was surprising, actually, that they'd gone straight for the unsavoury, instead of the interesting. Well, Merlin personally thought the whole re-animated king thing was much more interesting than the latent homosexuality thing, but who was he to judge?

"Okay, then what?"

"Well…" Merlin doesn't actually want to have to say it. So much truth in one night has left his mouth tasting sour.

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"They called you on your big gay love."

It's odd, because they had never really directly talked about, not while they were hunting. Not even while they were hunting for a way to find Arthur. It had just gone assumed, like Dean's unflinching protection of Sam, and Sam's religion. Things that just… are. "You're such a sensitive, kind soul, Dean Winchester."

"That's what all the ladies say. And how did Arthur take it?"

Merlin clears his throat. "Arthur… Arthur didn't take it well."

"Really?" Dean sounds genuinely surprised.

"Arthur has a thing about telling the truth."

"Oh?"

"Because of how I tend to… not… tell him the truth."

"Oh."

"So I think that's the big issue."

"And what's the little issue?"

Merlin laughs wryly. "That everyone, even people off the street who've never met us, think we should be planning our big gay wedding."

"Well, duh."

"Dean."

"I mean, you only know about fifteen people who are still alive at this point, so it'd be a cheap one, at least."

"Funny."

"I like to think so."

Merlin just scowls into the phone. Dean finally sighs and digs in. "Listen. How long did it take for him to come to grips with it when you told him you were a wizard?"

Merlin swallows down a foul taste. "Four days?"

"What about when you woke him up from the dead and told him fourteen hundred years had passed?"

"A little over a week."

"And how long has it been since he found out you're gay and everyone thinks he's your soulmate?"

"...about six hours."

"Yeah," Dean says, like it's easy. "I'd say he's doing fine, then, wouldn't you?"

And maybe it is that easy. "Huh," Merlin says intelligently. "Well, he's camped out in our hotel room, and told me not to come back."

"Have you called him?"

"He told me he'd phone when he was ready."

"Dude, he's never going to be 'ready'. Were you ever 'ready'?"

Merlin shakes his head, even though he knows Dean can't see it. "No."

"Which is ridiculous, considering you had like, eight hundred and sixty-five years to come to grips with liking dick."

"Lovely."

"Wrong?"

"No."

"Thank you."

"Although I think it was seven hundred and ninety-two, actually, if we're-- Wait."

"What?"

"You're implying he does."

"Does like dick?" Dean pauses, shuffles; Merlin can picture him kicking back, feet up on a table. "I dunno, man, but he sure wouldn't mind yours. Eventually."

Merlin sputters. "What-- that's--"

"I said eventually, all right? I don't think he's going to call you in five minutes and say, 'Merlin please pick up some lube on the way back to the hotel.'" Merlin guffaws. "But… everybody has their person, and I'd put a thousand to one that you're his."

Merlin clears his throat. He refuses to even think about it. "Who's yours, then?"

"That's easy, Brad Pitt," Dean says, and Merlin thinks he's off the hook. "And he doesn't even have the bonus of being a wizard, or immortal, or my bestie from like fifteen centuries ago, or the one person who has thought only of me his whole super-sized life."

Merlin sighs, frustrated beyond the pale. "I don't want an obligation fuck, Dean."

"Dude, no. I wouldn't even go there. And neither would Arthur, and you know it."

"Then you're full of shit. Arthur has no interest."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Interesting word choice, there, though, I gotta say. 'Arthur' has no interest. What about Merlin?"

"All right, you know what?"

"What?"

"I'm hanging up now."

Mobile phones don't have that satisfying _slam_ ming factor that landline phones used to have, Merlin notes with a tinge of regret as he ends the call. He stares at the screen until long after it goes dark, just thinking.

Over-thinking, really. Life has a lot of variables, constantly changing variables, but that doesn't mean Merlin has control over any of them but himself, a lesson hard learned. It's just that-- His blood is unsettled, in a way it hasn't been since he'd got Arthur back. 

Fuck it. He stands, dusts off his trousers, and goes looking for a ride.

He's got his hand over the hood of a sweet-looking Shelby GT500, his mouth open to whisper the spell, when his mobile blares loudly in his pocket. He nearly trips over himself and into the car trying to answer.

"Jesus Christ, Arthur," he breathes after hitting the green button.

"Sorry?"

Merlin huffs a laugh, his hand harmlessly resting on the top of the car. "Nothing. What d'you need?"

"You--" The phone goes in and out.

"Beg pardon?"

"--can come back now. All right? I've decided--" He sighs, frustrated. "I hate these phone things. Just come back and we'll talk."

Merlin lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "All right."

Their hotel room is a suite, but it's hardly lavish. Which was at Arthur's insistence, something Merlin's still shaking his head at as he keys open the door a half hour later.

"Arthur?" he calls, and hears an answering flush from the bathroom. Arthur still flushes at least twice, despite Merlin's slightly-amused reassurances. Sometimes he'll even just go sit and watch it, or the tap, not needing to use either one, just… watching.

Merlin has a suspicion this might be one of those times, so he doesn't call out again. He puts his keys and wallet and phone on the table. He takes off his hoodie and beanie ('Why do you dress like a fifteen year old boy?' Arthur demands nearly every day. Merlin has yet to give an answer that suits him.) and makes his way to the bathroom.

Sure enough, Arthur is sitting on the edge of bathtub, watching the water pool and drain. "Hello," Merlin says to him, settling down on the floor, his back against the cabinets under the sink.

Arthur seems startled. "Oh. Hello. Sorry, I--" He reaches to turn the taps off.

"It's all right. I don't mind. Some of my best thinking has been done in the rooms like this." Merlin says this with a small smile, but Arthur's face stays stoic, thoughtful. "So what is it, then? What decision have you come to?"

"I haven't," Arthur says shortly.

"But you said, on the phone, you said--"

"I know what I said, but really what I had decided was that it was stupid to get wound up about any of it without all the proper information."

Merlin looks at him quizzically. "What more information could you need? You're back from the dead, I'm immortal, I'm gay, a bunch of people think we should get gay married and live happily ever after. What's to it, really?"

Arthur gives him a pointed look. "Merlin."

"Sorry. You were saying?"

"Yes. I was saying. I was saying that I realised I never… I mean, they never…" His jaw tightens. "I never asked you how you felt about the whole thing."

"The whole…?"

"Two sides of the same coin."

Merlin cracks a smile. "Arthur--"

"I'm serious."

"I know you are. You have your serious face on."

"Merlin…"

"And yet, this is me smiling."

"Merlin--"

"Arthur, I spent fourteen hundred years trying to get you back."

"Apparently you spent some of it doing other things, actually--"

Merlin waves a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, I shagged a few blokes, I did a few drugs, I stopped a few wars, I killed a few demons, I stole a few cars."

"Cars?" Arthur's curiosity is definitely piqued.

"Never mind. The point is that all those things were done in search of you. In waiting for you. And now you're asking me how I feel about it?"

Arthur looks a bit embarrassed. "Well, I--"

"So essentially you're asking me if this means I want to shag your brains out?"

Arthur chokes a little. "That's hardly--"

"Well, the answer is, I don't know." And it's barely even a lie. Lightman probably wouldn't even be able to tell. But the truth is-- Merlin has rarely allowed himself to entertain the possibility, even in the dark hours. His feelings have always been second to the needs of the kingdom, to the needs of Arthur, to the needs of-- of everything else.

"You don't know?"

Merlin shrugs, spreading his hands. "You're very handsome, Arthur, but you're a bit high maintenance for me."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"You're having a go at me, aren't you?"

"Now why would I do that?"

Arthur pulls a face, but acquiesces. "Because it's a ridiculous, insecure, and slightly homophobic question to ask in the first place?"

Merlin has to admit, he's a little surprised, and it puts a grin on his face. He points to his nose. "On the money, Mr Pendragon. My, you _are_ clever for someone who just woke up from the dead a week ago."

"Two weeks, and I was clever before then."

"Says the bloke who had a sorcerer for a servant and had zero idea."

"Yes, but that was because--"

Arthur freezes, his mouth slightly open.

"Because why, Arthur? Because you were too busy playing Prince?"

Arthur comes back quickly, clearing his throat. "Yes, yes. That must've been it. Very busy."

Merlin isn't quite sure what just happened, but he knows pushing will not get him any further than it already has. And they've come plenty far today already.

Arthur scrubs a hand over his eyes. "That still isn't really all of the necessary information, though."

"No?"

His hand drops. He looks very, very tired. And a little bit lost. "What the buggering hell am I _doing_ here, Merlin?"

Merlin's chest hurts for him. For them both. And he honestly has no earthly idea what to say. "Would 'enjoying life' be too coquettish of an answer?"

"Yes," Arthur says shortly, standing. "And now I'm ready for bed. What on the schedule for tomorrow, anyway? Now that… well--"

Merlin stands, too, reaching for his toothbrush and the tap. "Now that we're not getting any direction from Dean's helpful friend? I dunno, I was thinking about the zoo."

"The zoo." Despite his droll tone, Arthur looks unwillingly interested.

"Yeah. Some wicked cool animals, some overpriced American food, you know. Someone will make fun of your accent and you'll undoubtedly do something ridiculously seventh century, for which _I_ will make fun of you. We'll make a whole day out of it."

He has to duck the pillow that comes flying his direction.

Thankfully, the weather is naff the next day, which is ace, really, because otherwise the zoo would've been overrun with visitors, and they probably wouldn't've got in nearly as much time as they do before it all goes to hell in a handbasket.

"A what-a-lot?" Arthur says with a start.

"An ocelot. No relation to Lancelot. Especially considering Lancelot's a French name and these little guys--" Merlin peers into the habitat, eyes alight with joy at watching the kits gamboling. "--are mostly from South America."

"They're…" Arthur peers in, too, but a little more suspiciously. "They're not familiars?"

Merlin throws back his head and laughs out loud. "No, Arthur. No. They're just animals. Like you and me." He smirks. "Well, like you."

"Actually…" Arthur says a bit cautiously as they move on to the next exhibit. "I've been wondering about that. Am I… like you?"

Merlin's lips twitch. "Erm, you're going to have to be more specific, in light of--"

"Immortal, you giant imbecile," Arthur whispers, far too loudly to actually be covert.

"Oh! Oh, that. Well, I'm not exactly keen to experiment, are you?"

Arthur huffs. "A thousand years hasn't made you any more clever, I see."

"Nonsense. It's all part of my charm, remember?"

Arthur's about to cuff him round the head when Merlin feels a tug on his trouser leg. "Yes?" he says to the tiny black-haired girl he finds when he looks down. "Erm. Are you lost?"

She shakes her head solemnly. "I just wanted to make sure you were you."

Merlin smiles, tries not to be nervous. "I am me, that I am!" A million years old and he still feels awkward around kids, especially kids in public places with no parents-- He looks around quickly.

Only to find another child standing by Arthur's side. Arthur, because he's Arthur, crouches down to say hello. The boy smiles brightly at him, then sobers. "Go. Save her. Save them all."

Arthur's face immediately takes on a grave countenance. "I would, friend, but I don't know of whom you speak. Can you tell me more?"

"Arthur--" Merlin tries.

"Back," the boy says simply, as if it's easy. "You have to go back."

"Jesus Christ," Merlin mutters to himself, unsettled verging on blatantly non-plussed. "Arthur..."

"Merlin, this can't be a coincidence." Arthur looks up at him, then his eyes widen even further.

Merlin turns… and keeps turning, because more children are coming, are approaching them, half a dozen, then a dozen, until they've gathered a crowd, and the words in their young voices all coalesce--

_Go back. You have to go back._

_Save her._

_Go back._

Arthur looks at him, his eyes huge and hurting, and it all tips over into terrifying. And Merlin's never been so sure of anything in his life.

"Oh, dear," he says faintly.

Dean's asleep when Merlin and Arthur appear out of thin air into the brothers' dingy hotel room. Sam stands quickly from where he was working at the laptop. "Merlin, Arthur--" He shakes their hands, each of them, concern blooming on his face as he takes in their expressions.

"Sam, hello," Merlin says succinctly. "We need your help."

Dean's sleep-gravelled voice floats up from the bed. "Don't tell me you're here for marriage counseling." He's sat up now, blinking at them, sheets falling to his waist, and Merlin has to look away or blush, which is ridiculous, considering. _Considering._

"We have a proper problem," he says wryly instead. "We've had another incident."

Dean shakes his head, clearly trying to sort it out. "Another creepy kid?"

"Three dozen creepy kids."

One big blink of surprise. "Holy cats. Yeah, okay. Let me get some clothes on and we'll go talk it out over brunch."

"Brunch?" Merlin can't help but throw out as Dean rifles through his duffle. "You brunch?"

Dean straightens up, clothing in hand, and points at Merlin emphatically. "Shut your face hole." Then he slams the toilet door especially hard.

Merlin chuckles. "I'd say someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but…" He shrugs, half-grinning despite himself.

Sam shrugs back at him. "Can't live with him, can't, you know, commit fratricide."

"I heard that!" Dean shouts from the bathroom.

"Duh!" Sam replies loudly, and even Arthur smirks. Then sobers after a moment of silence. They all do.

"What are you thinking?" Sam asks Merlin quietly.

He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, looking at Arthur. Arthur nods, just enough, enough that Merlin doesn't hesitate. "That we have no choice."

Sam pauses, then nods. "I understand."

And Merlin has no doubt that he does.

"So," Dean says after they've slid into a booth and got coffee and ordered many platters of heart attack-inducing fare, "when are we headed to Wales?"

Merlin cocks his head. "Ignoring the 'we' part for a bit, the destination is actually Scotland."

Sam is intrigued by this. "But I thought Camelot was in Wales?"

"It wasn't."

Dean snorts. "Scotland? How could something idyllic be in Scotland? You know how many sheep jokes I have about Scotland? And isn't it frozen like, ninety percent of the year?"

"That's the Hebrides, and they're not all shep-- No, you know what, we're not even having this conversation right now."

"Aw," Dean says with a grin, "I got Merlin all riled up."

"Also," Merlin can't help but continue, "you lot are pansies when it comes to weather. Back when Arthur was--" Merlin very nearly says 'alive,' but chokes it down, and no one comments on the pause. "--king, it was a hot period, but two hundred years later we were getting into a mini-iceage in Europe. Why do you think the Romans came up with the heating system?"

Sam lights up. "Oh yeah! That is awesome stuff. I've read about how they--"

"Hello, geeks?"

They all turn to Dean.

"We have a mission here."

"Right. Sorry."

Dean turns to Merlin. "And what is that mission, exactly?"

Merlin shrugs. "I dunno. I've told you everything we know."

"Okay, well, can't you just--" Dean makes this swirly motion above his coffee cup. "Foretell it, or something? Mr Wizard?"

"You don't think I've tried that?"

Dean cocks his chin to one side. "You haven't tried it with Sam, here."

"I what?"

"Dean, no," Sam protests, his large bulk somehow shrinking in the seat as his cheeks redden. "It's been a while, and I don't think I can still--"

"Nah. Once a freak, always a freak, right, Merlin?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're on about, actually, so--"

"I used to have visions," Sam admits resignedly. 

Dean keeps talking. "He's always been smarter'n me about that kind of stuff, anyway. Bobby Fisher-style strategy stuff. So it kind of made sense, in a weird way. And he's had demon blood and died a few times and--"

Sam looks like he wants to strangle his brother. Merlin almost wants to laugh. "Dean, for real. Merlin does not need to know that stuff."

Dean's face kind of softens, but he stays on goal. "Hey, it can't hurt to try, right?

Merlin finally chimes in. "Actually, it can." The brothers both turn to him, surprised looks on their faces. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Kids these days, think they know everything. 

"If I use scrying magic through someone-- and I'm assuming that's what you're going for-- and it goes wrong--" He purses his lips. "It can fuck your shit up, is all I'm going to say. And without a guarantee it would work, it's not a risk I'm betting you're willing to take."

Dean shrugs. "It was just an idea."

Sam, however, is suddenly interested. "But you're not saying you can't do it."

"No…" Merlin says slowly, looking from Sam to Dean and back. "I absolutely could do it. And I'm pretty sure it'd be successful."

"You are?"

Merlin shrugs. "I've been around the block a few times."

"Attaboy," Dean says. "But use me instead of Sam."

"What?" Merlin says. "No."

"But you said--"

"Sam is willing, Sam has the aptitude. Sam is who I need."

"Dean," Sam says, urgency threading his tone. "I gotta do this. You know I do." He lowers his head, looks Dean right in the eye. "I'll be fine."

Dean looks for all the world like he wants to lock Sam up in his room and never let him out again, for his own bloody good. Merlin can sympathise.

He can also see the moment Dean loses the fight. "Fine, whatever. Just, I'm not leaving the room, and we better have a backup plan."

Sam looks at Merlin, who nods. "It's a deal."

"But after pie."

"Sure, Dean," Sam says, a smile in his voice. "After pie."

After ten nervewracking minutes of Sam being out cold post-scry, and Dean sweating it like the world is ending, Merlin just wants a sodding drink. And he wants to never ever see another cheap American motel room in his life. Ever.

Which is okay, because they're headed back to Britain, and likely going to die there. Even him. So, really, it's all going to come out in the wash.

"What the hell did you see?" Arthur hisses at him once Sam has woken up long enough to blink at Dean and tease him about his face being a wreck, and Dean has unclenched enough for any of them to breathe.

"Not now," Merlin murmurs back. Arthur's face tightens. Merlin huffs out a breath, then gestures him to the back of the room, the furthest they can get from the beds. "Fine," he says once they've shuffled there, "but don't interrupt when I have to tell it to them again in an hour."

"You won't have to," Sam's voice says from the bed, and Merlin and Arthur both look at him with a start. "I'm fine." At Dean's glare, he amends. "I'm not a hundred percent, but I can handle talking about it. Okay?"

"Whatever," Dean mutters, before stretching out on the bed beside his brother and looking expectantly at Merlin. "Make it a cool story, bro."

Merlin very nearly chuckles. "Yeah, right. So-- Sam, do you not remember any of it?"

"No, I do," Sam says lightly. Too lightly.

"Ah. Well. Do the rest of you want the short version or the long version?"

"Cliff's Notes, please," Dean tosses back.

"Who's Cliff?" Arthur asks.

Merlin shoots him a look and is mildly astonished to see a twinkle in his eye. "Shut it," he says, then sobers. "There's a really evil English bloke who's hoarding magical kids suspiciously near what used to be Camelot. Well, kid, specifically. One really special kid, whose name I'm very much hoping does not start with an M because then we're all doomed."

"Nice, Merlin."

"Sorry, Arthur, but it's true. We're probably all doomed, anyway, because if what we saw was right, then this bloke is -- well, he's Voldemort and Grindewald combined, you understand me?"

"No," Arthur says, annoyed tone in full force.

"Told you you should have let him read Harry Potter," Dean says smugly.

"Okay, okay, he's -- he's Morgana and Morgause combined."

"Shouldn't be a problem for you, then."

Merlin's mouth opens a little bit as he stares at Arthur. "Was that a woman joke, or a--" He stops. "Do you still not know how powerful both of of them were?"

Arthur's jaw tics. "Merlin, you idiot, aren't you supposed to be the most powerful sorcerer in all of history?"

Merlin shakes his head. "Fat lot of good it does me. I have to find where he is, get through all of his wards, and destroy him without harming any of the kids, not to mention any civilians or any of you lot. Even I can't pull off a miracle."

"No, you can't," Dean cuts in, and Merlin looks over and finds he's stood, glancing down at Sam. Sam nods at him, and they both look at Merlin. "But we can help you fake one."

"Dean," Merlin starts, hoping he'll see reason but knowing it's futile, knowing he'll have to literally restrain all of them from running after him like idiots. Loyal and lovable idiots, but idiots nonetheless. "We'd need a huge amount of people, and time, and planning, and did I mention four is not a huge amount of people?"

"What, you need drivers?"

Merlin flails a hand out, completely frustrated. "To start with, yes."

"You know drivers."

It dawns on Merlin what Dean's driving at. "Dominic. You mean Dom and Brian."

Dean cocks a shoulder. "Sure. They owe you, am I right?"

"Yes, but--"

"No buts. What else do you need?"

Merlin sighs. "I'd need people to scout, to infiltrate, to get into his company and find information for me."

"I know a girl," Dean says smoothly, a corner of his mouth smugly up.

"No!" Merlin says emphatically. "No more of your crazy sexy women, Dean."

"Dude, you are so gay I can't even."

Arthur grunts and Merlin for a second thinks it's a laugh. Merlin looks at him, but his face gives nothing away as he shrugs one shoulder. "Shut up," Merlin counters succinctly. Then Arthur does smirk, and Merlin can't help but make a face back.

"Hello," Dean interrupts. "Focus, people. This one is not crazy sexy." He pauses. "Well, okay, she is, but she's not-- You'll understand when you meet her, okay?"

Merlin doubts that. "And why would I meet her?"

"She's part of a crew that runs cons."

Merlin huffs. "Oh, lovely. Dean, I don't think that's a great choice when--"

"Good people cons."

"Good people cons? Good people cons, like--"

Dean makes a wavey motion. "Like helping kids get their cancer treatment funded and military vets get new legs, yeah, I mean it. Good people cons. They're the best. They stole a cruiseliner once. Hell, I'm pretty sure they stole a small island country once."

Merlin raises an eyebrow. "Impressive. If it's true."

"Oh, it's true."

"And you know because?"

"Hey, I don't kiss and tell. So how's about you call Dom & Brian and tell them to meet us in Portland?"

"Portland? Oregon?"

"Yeah. Maine is just cold."

"And has Stephen King," Sam points out.

"Yeah. Fucker knows way too much."

Merlin flat-out laughs at that. He's going to miss these two. "No," he says with finality, putting the last of the dirty clothes into his bag after a quick cleaning spell. "I don't care what Sam and I just saw. None of you, or your friendly crew, or your great aunt Madge are going to go with me."

"Great aunt who?"

"You heard me."

"Isn't that a nickname for Madonna?"

Merlin widens his stance, purses his lips just a little, and, finishing off his credible Dean imitation, points his finger and says, his voice pitched low and rough, "Shut your pie hole."

Then he turns around and sees Arthur.

Merlin's seen Arthur about seventeen different levels of angry. But the look on his face--the look on his face right now is more than familiar to Merlin because it's one Merlin had sported time and again.

"You're not leaving me here," Arthur starts, tone like iron, and it's bloody deja vu, only twisted round, and Merlin has to shake himself a little.

"You can come back to England if you'd like," he gives, hedgingly.

"But not Camelot."

Merlin shakes his head. "Not Scotland. Not yet. Not until after this is over. After this is over, I'll show you around, you can bitch about the weather, it'll be--"

"Merlin."

Merlin exhales, hoists his bag up a little more. "Look, Arthur, you can't come with me."

Arthur steps closer to him, his voice a low, angry hiss. "What happened to duty?"

Merlin feels it, like a sting in his chest. And he has no good answer. But he has to try. "My duty was to you."

Arthur reaches out a hand, grasping Merlin's bicep as if to shake him. He's probably not far from it. "And this is happening to me. To us."

Merlin can't help the angry sound that escapes the back of his throat as he shoves Arthur away. "I'm not going to have any more friends die on my watch!"

But Arthur just crowds him again. "And you think I feel differently? You've always understood that the ends sometimes justify the means, moreso than I normally did."

Merlin winces. "Yes, well, I've had time to ruminate on that, and--"

Arthur makes a cutting motion with his hand. Merlin can feel the air whiff across his face. "Bullshit. What did you see that has you running so scared?"

Merlin sighs. He gives Arthur a hard look. "What do you think?"

Arthur's jaw tics. "I die."

"Yes."

"Again."

"Yes."

"Well," Arthur says after a moment, "at least I know you can bring me back."

Merlin shakes his head ruefully. "Not if Sam and Dean and I are dead, too."

Arthur's eyes widen. "You? But you--"

"I don't think I can beat this one. I think--I think I'm able to destroy him, but it would--" He stops.

"Destroy you as well."

"Such a fucking cliche."

"Merlin." Suddenly Merlin finds himself a millimetre from Arthur, held by strong hands and even more pinned by a destructive blue gaze. "Do you think, for _one moment_ , for one small, tiny moment, that I would not do whatever it took to be there by your side when this happens?"

It's only natural, the ache in Merlin's chest.

"I could stop you," he says finally.

Arthur considers him, his eyes narrowing a bit. "With magic?"

"Yes."

He waves it off. "You think that could stop me now? I know people who deal with that sort of thing, now."

Merlin purses his lips against a twitch. "I'm pretty powerful."

Arthur folds his arms, a clear challenge. "So I'm told. And have yet to see. Mostly I've just seen some fancy parlour tricks, which, really--"

"Shut up." Merlin's grinning. He's hurting so badly he could bust open, and he knows he's leading his best friend down the last and worst rabbit hole they'll ever see, but he's grinning. "You're serious?"

"As a heart attack."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "No more slang for you."

Arthur pulls his hand down, shakes him a little. "Yes, of course I'm serious, you idiot. What the hell else am I going to do? Send you off with a handshake?"

"Well, that's what you used to do."

Arthur winces, then shakes his head. "No." His stance and tone forbid argument. He's fully back in king mode, in warrior mode, and it threatens to steal Merlin's breath. "This time, there are no secrets, and there is no going back. If we're going to go down, we're going to go down fighting, me and these Yanks--" He thumbs at Sam and Dean, still on the bed and watching with amused interest. "--and whoever else is mad enough to come along. And if you ever thought differently, you were clearly delusional. Which, well, we knew."

Merlin can't quite think. So it's a good thing that Dean interrupts with a slow-clap. "Man, Arthur, you should write speeches for Jerry Bruckheimer movies."

"Jerry who?"

Merlin smirks. "Don't worry about it. Dean: Portland?"

"I'm not sure Sam is--"

"I'm fine," Sam answers immediately, and his voice is indeed strong. "Let's do this."

Dean makes a grumbly noise, but when Sam gets off the bed and gathers up his bag, he follows. 

"Do you need GPS coordinates to get us, there, or can you just--" Dean makes a swirly motion with his finger.

Merlin rolls his eyes. "An address would be nice."

"I'm calling you Google Maps from now on."

Merlin flicks his wrist and Dean yelps with laughter as the tickling spell hits him. "Okay!" he gasps. "Uncle, Jesus fu--"

"Don't finish that, Arthur's ears are still rather delicate."

"Bite me," Arthur says, then stands there looking absurdly proud of his cheek. Until he remember their mission. "Right. We ready?"

"Suppose so," Merlin says with a tilt of his chin. Everyone's got their bags and appropriate bravely apprehensive looks on their faces. "Let's do this."

"Planeteers, hands in!" Dean manages. Then he laughs again, putting a hand to his side. "Merlin! Help me out, here!" Merlin grins and waves at him mercifully.

A moment later, they feel the rain on their faces.

"Dude, did you have to land us _outside_?"

Merlin eyes him. "So sorry. You want me to drop us down in the middle of a restaurant?"

Dean tilts his head in acquiescence. "Fair point. Plus, Eliot doesn't react too kindly to strangers sometimes."

"Is that her name?"

Dean chuckles. "No, no, that's one of her… friends' names."

"Right." Merlin gestures towards the door. "Lead the way, Winchester."

The pub is empty but for the pre-requisite lone mid-afternoon guy at the bar. "You sure we're in the right place?" Merlin murmurs to Dean.

An amazingly tall woman with straight blonde hair falling to her waist comes out a swinging door and walks behind the bar. She looks them up and down, zero smile on her face and a perfectly manicured eyebrow raised. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," Dean speaks up, clearing his throat. "Tell Parker Bruce Wayne's here to see her."

The bartender's eyebrow gets even higher.

"Please?" Merlin adds, fingers twitching. He doesn't have to use any magic, though, because she puts a hand up and turns to where there's an honest-to-God rotary phone under the mirrored liquor shelves.

"Hey, boss," she says, not bothering to lower her voice. "Parker's got visitors. Wise-asses, so they're staying down here for now." She looks up, scans them again. "Nah. Tell him they come in peace."

"How--"

Suddenly a small blond figure is barrelling at them.

"Deeeeeeaaaaaan!"

She doesn't hug him, though. She just stops, right in front of him, her face split with a grin like she knows a secret, hugging herself, until he swoops her up, over his shoulder like she's an ice-dancer. "Parker Posey!" he proclaims happily, spinning around just fast enough to make her hair fan out.

"Peter Parker!" she yells back. "Fly me like an airplane!"

Merlin can't help it, he's charmed. "What is even happening here?"

Sam's grinning, too. "She's like the little sister he never had."

"Okay, okay, put me down or I'm going to puke."

"Liar," Dean says, but he does put her down.

"Yeah," she says, blowing hair out of her eyes. "I just wanted to see the behemoth." She sticks out a hand. "Samson. Samgod. How are you?"

Sam shakes it, clearly having to resist pulling her in for a hug. "Still kickin, Parks 'n' Rec."

She grins again. There's something vaguely unsettling about her grin, Merlin susses, but he doesn't have much time to think on it because the rest of the posse is coming in to back her up.

They're… immense. Not in that any of them are particularly huge, physically, but the sheer size of their presence, their personalities… is monster.

They might be on their way to the end of days, but Merlin suddenly has no doubt that they're going to have one hell of a ride.

The lair, as Merlin can't help but call it in his head, is upstairs and quite the thing, with a dozen shiny computer screens and a surprisingly looked-after kitchen. But he doesn't have much time to case the joint before the conversation continues.

Eliot, it turns out, is the shorter white bloke with longer brown hair than Sam and a pinched look on his face. It's a specific pinched look Merlin has seen too many times on people, and he wonders just what kind of person Eliot is to have spent his life in enough violence to cause such a thing. When they shake hands, morbid curiosity gets the best of him and he reaches in, just a little.

Then he jolts back. "Holy shit," he mutters. Eliot eyes him, and he finally shrugs one shoulder. "You are one badass motherfucker. To steal an expression."

Eliot blinks, and for one moment, his face unclenches, then it clenches again in overt suspicion. Dean hoots and loops an arm around his shoulders, slapping him on the chest companionably. "He's got your number, my friend."

"My reputation precedes me," Eliot grumbles, but he doesn't shrug Dean off of him so Merlin figures he's probably safe from a throw-down. At the moment.

"It's alright," Dean says amicably, "Merlin's does, too."

Eliot cocks an eyebrow. "Merlin?"

"Yeah, me," Merlin answers. "Merlin. The one and only."

"Well, that can't be true," Parker starts. Merlin steels himself for the expected argument. "There has to have been at least a couple kids named Merlin in the last thousand years or whatever."

"...fair point."

"I mean, it also can't be true because you look about nineteen, and Merlin would be hella old looking by now," continues a tall black man wearing a ridiculously fringed scarf over a Ms Pac-Man t-shirt, "and also because Merlin is a fictional character." He crosses his arms, and Merlin gets the absurd feeling his mythological doppleganger is being defended. "Oh, and a freaking badass sorcerer."

Arthur snorts. Merlin elbows him. "Well, thanks for that." Merlin sticks out a hand. "The old thing is fun once in a while, but the beard is too high-maintenance for me. Nice to meet you, Mr…?"

"Hardison. Alec Hardison. And I didn't just say that to sound like Bond, although I do have the prerequisite cool gadgets." His expression turns momentarily thoughtful. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I have cooler gadgets. They should consult with me for those flicks. I'm just saying."

Merlin blinks. "Lovely. Well. You already seem to know Sam and Dean, and this here is Arthur."

Merlin counts to himself. He nearly gets to eight before the other shoe drops.

Surprisingly, it's a slightly taller, slightly older, slightly more exotic-looking woman who comes forward with the words he's expecting. "You're taking the mickey."

Merlin and Arthur look at her, their mouths probably open a little. Her accent's not precisely English, but it's most definitely not American. "Beg pardon?"

"Merlin?" she says, cocking one hand on a hip and looking between them expectantly. "Arthur? Merlin and Arthur?"

"...yes?"

"That's a frighteningly thin attempt at an act, I must say."

"Sophie," Dean says, addressing the woman in question, "it's not an act."

She chuckles. Then she reaches to pat Dean's cheek. "You're such a dear."

"No, for real," he continues, although he's still smiling affectionately at her. "You guys remember that Sam and I deal with things that go bump in the night, right?"

"And I don't like to think about it, thanks," the last person in Parker's posse answers. He's a middle-aged white man with some hard drinking years on him, and Merlin can tell as much without having to reach at all. "The name's Nate, by the way. Nathan Ford and if you're some kinda crazy vampire, or demon, or Rumplestilstkin, or whatever, then you can just--" He makes an unmistakable gesture towards the door.

"Nah, mate," Arthur answers, his first move in a while. Maybe he can sense that he's reached the leader of the group, Merlin muses. "He's just got magic."

"Magic."

"Yeah," Dean says, "but it's okay. He only uses his powers for good."

"Well," Merlin interjects offhandedly, "there was that one time, with the--"

"Merlin."

"Right. Sorry. Yes. Very good. Not evil. Cross my heart."

Needless to say, they don't buy it. And bloody hell but they can be a loud group when they get going.

"That's bullshit," Eliot says tersely, his arms crossed in front of him. He might be short, but his arms are ridiculously muscled and Merlin can't help but be impressed.

"Language," Sophie admonishes absently.

"Sorry."

"Although I'd tend to agree, but--"

"But what?" Hardison interrupts, his arms equally crossed. "You think he's Merlin? _The_ Merlin?"

"That's assuming _The_ Merlin actually, you know, existed," Eliot counters.

Hardison faces him. "Listen, okay, you can think whatever you want in your little--" He waves a hand. "--hard-body world of ass-kicking and ninja skills, but I have different heroes, okay." He puts a fisted hand to his heart. "Like King Arthur."

Merlin feels Arthur puff up next to him, and barely keeps from rolling his eyes. "He doesn't need the ego boost, I'll have you know," he says dryly, but the group doesn't hear him. Arthur, however, huffs grumpily.

"Seriously, how are you twelve years old?" Eliot continues, echoing what Merlin was considering saying to Arthur.

"Better than being a part-time-chef-slash-part-time-killing-machine," Hardison counters.

"That's unfair," Sophie says. "It's more like quarter time killing machine now."

"People," Nate starts, but Merlin is only mildly paying attention-- because Parker is staring at him. Really a lot.

"Yes?" he says quietly, keeping his tone warm.

"Are you for real?" she says, her voice small and terse.

"I"m afraid so," he says, spreading his hands out, as if to prove his innocence. He's like a cat, though, in reality: showing his weapons in plain sight.

"Prove it," she says.

Merlin pauses. Listens to the arguments going on around him, wondering how far he should go. 

After a moment, he raises a hand, and his voice. "People! Calm down, the lot of you!"

There's a dancing yellow flame in his palm and the group quiets instantly. Even Eliot drops his stance.

"Could be fake," Parker says distractedly, eyes focused on the fire in a kind of disturbing way.

"Totally fake," Hardison agrees. "I have a watch upstairs that'll do the same thing. Plus lasers."

"Parlour tricks, Merlin," Arthur says smugly. "I told you."

"Fine, then," Merlin grumbles. "Parker, what's your favorite animal?"

"Red panda. Why? Can you make one appear? Because--"

But Merlin does one better.

He does it slowly. Transfiguration is stupidly hard, anyway, (one way in which _Harry Potter_ was spot on) but he wants them to see it, wants no misdirection here whatsoever. Which means it hurts more, stretches out the pain like molasses, but it's worth it.

"Whoa."

It's Parker, and her voice is full of delight. She reaches down to pet him, and Merlin lets her, his brain his own but the instinct to lean into her hand strong. So he goes with it. Then he blinks up at her, and scampers without preamble up Eliot's leg to his shoulder.

It's a gamble. He doesn't personally know whether Eliot is so damaged he'll startle into violence, and Merlin will have to do some quick magic to prevent himself getting into serious trouble if that's the case. 

But the gamble pays off, because Eliot barks out a laugh and grabs at him gently, hands coming down to secure Merlin's position. "There you go," he says calmingly, like Merlin's a horse, and Merlin finds himself charmed.

"Okay," Hardison says reluctantly. "That's pretty cool."

Merlin makes a noise, and it's disgustingly cute, he's sure, and Sophie holds out her hand. "Oh, go on." Merlin hesitates, concentrates, shrinks himself a little, and manages to get over to her without falling.

He sits there for a while, squirming against her neck, before it gets to him, before he misses being able to speak, and he jumps down, changing back before he's hit the ground.

He shakes himself. Then he notices Arthur's wide eyes and hard jaw. "Still think it's just parlour tricks?" he says softly, a corner of his mouth quirking up.

Arthur just shakes his head. But his eyes are clear of suspicion, and Merlin can't ask for much more at this point.

"Still not enough," Nate says, re-capturing Merlin's attention. The group, all of them, look at him in disbelief, but Merlin doesn't begrudge him his unwillingness to land his crew into a heap of trouble for a false prophet.

"Seriously?" Hardison says.

Nate stays firm. "We know there are things out there that could do this."

"For nefarious purposes?" Dean supplies. "Not this one. We've been working with him for months. He's--"

"Probably putting the whammy on all of you?"

"Please explain to me the scientific nature of 'The Whammy,'" Hardison invokes sardonically. 

A smile spreads across Dean's face. "Scully's so hot, dude."

"Right?" They fist bump.

"Okay, now it's too much like Nerd Bro Camp in here. Can we get back to business?" Eliot turns to Merlin. "Nate has a point. How do we know you're not-- I don't know, just using those ears to make you seem friendly?"

Arthur laughs outright. "Beg pardon?" Merlin manages.

"They are rather large, aren't they?" Sophie muses.

"Yeah," Hardison says. "Real Merlin would not have huge-ass ears. He could just, IDK, magic them away."

And it's not like Merlin hadn't tried that--and successfully, all right--somewhere back in the 14th century, just for funsies, but it took energy and really-- "I do just fine with the ears the fates gave me, thanks very much."

"I bet you do," Sophie says, looking him up and down.

Merlin clears his throat. "Right, so, ears mean not evil. I can understand needing something else, but you must be clever enough to realise that no matter what I do, it could all be a trick. Can you not just trust Dean?"

"Maybe." Nate's gaze doesn't let up. "What's the con?"

"Yes. The con. Erm." Merlin hesitates.

Arthur steps closer to him. "What is it?"

"I could… show them," Merlin says to him, though he doesn't lower his voice. "And that might kill two birds with one stone. You'd have to-- help, though?"

"Yeah?" Arthur says, clearly intrigued. "How so?"

"Just-- just stand there." And Merlin's not done this in a while, because it takes a lot of power, but Arthur's there and plus it's clearly necessary. Merlin spreads his stance a little, and stretches out his hands. He gathers up the force of the earth from the ground beneath the boards beneath his feet, then lifts his fingers while incanting words he'd rarely used amongst car thieving and watching Rome fall.

Suddenly, the air around them, around them all, is alive with memories.

"Merlin," Arthur breathes as they watch themselves, shadows of themselves playing out their greatest hits -- from wyverns to Nimue to Avalon and back again, threaded together in vaguely chronological order but a bit scattered, because nothing is perfect. "This is-- this is--"

He falls silent, and Merlin feels fingers catch at his arm, solid and warm. He doesn't look away from the tableau, and he knows Arthur can't either, but the warmth spreads through him just the same.

Then the montage tips forward into the recent past, and Arthur makes a noise as he sees himself laying comatose on that forest floor all those months ago. Then they're in the park, in the zoo, surrounded by children, they're scrying, they're seeing explosive images of different children held in captivity, beautiful wonderful children, held by a man Merlin can't even bear to look at --

Merlin pulls his outstretched fingers together, and the picture fades.

He immediately drops his hands, and exhaustion overtakes him. "Arthur," he manages, focusing on that point where Arthur's fingers connect them. "I need you now."

Arthur is closer to him in an instant, both hands on Merlin's upper arms, strong and firm and Merlin is one hundred percent sure it's the only thing holding him up. "What do I need to do, Merlin?"

"Exactly what you're doing," Merlin says softly, lifting his hands to the sides of Arthur's face, his fingers reaching into blonde hair, feeling warm skin and a steady heartbeat. Then he lets go.

A few minutes later, he's good as new.

He opens his eyes to find the entire room staring at him.

"What… just happened?" Hardison ventures, looking so wide-eyed it's pretty nearly comical.

Merlin shrugs slightly, and Arthur's hands fall away. He misses them immediately, but it's a feeling with which he's very familiar. "You should know, fanboy," he replies to Hardison, not unkindly. "The magic of Arthur is the strength he gives people."

Arthur starts. "Metaphorically."

Merlin's eyes twinkle. "That, too."

"Has it always--?"

"No. Just… near the end." He says no more, and Arthur takes the hint.

Arthur turns to the group instead, his stance sure. "So that's the situation," he says. He says it to Nate but keeps his body language open to everyone, and Merlin feels a powerful surge of affection, which only grows at the words that follow. "There are children there, innocent children who have spent their short lives thinking they're freaks, who are being given an opportunity to use their powers for the first time -- only it's for this genuinely evil man. And he cannot be allowed to continue. We need you and your team to help us end this." 

Nate regards him for a moment, but it's obvious he's interested. He's even almost smiling a little, like he's on the scent of a good fight.

Then he looks around at his team. "We in?

Sophie nods, her eyes a little shiny. "Hell yes," Hardison says.

Parker looks at him, and tilts her head. "Never tried to infiltrate a castle before. Could be fun."

Eliot presses his lips together, but it's the good kind of determination. "Dude's up to no good. I mean, look at that stance."

"You can tell a guy is evil from his stance?"

"It's a very distinctive stance. Let's do this."

Nate nods at them, then nods at Merlin and Arthur. "You've got yourself a crew."

"Excellent," Merlin says, reaching out a hand. Nate takes it, then extends the shake to Arthur.

Arthur reciprocates, catching himself before nearly doing it the old-fashioned way. "We can't promise you a happy ending," he adds warningly.

Dean snorts. "Might not want to say that in this context."

Merlin puts his hands up, wiggles his fingers threateningly. "Watch it."

Dean puts up his hands. "I'm just sayin!"

"It's all right," Nate says, clearly amused. "We're in, despite Arthur's mildly inappropriate yet dire predictions."

He claps his hands together, and the crew snaps to. Ready.

"Let's go steal back a kingdom."

An hour later, they're still in the first stages of planning. And by 'planning,' Merlin means 'arguing.'

"No, we are not going to do an Oopsy Daisy. You are insane."

"Why not? it's perfect. We would have zero trouble finding a good John Cleese impersonator."

"How about the Stinky Cheese?"

"The what now?"

"It's like the Moldy Cheese, only there's a patsy."

"No way. I tried that once. The blue on my face didn't come off for a _week_."

Merlin is entirely amused by the preceedings, but Arthur's face grows stormy. After Hardison starts waxing poetic about the British government's internet security protocol ("I could crack that baby like a peanut. While blindfolded. And asleep."), Arthur pulls Merlin aside. Very far aside.

"Merlin," he hisses, "I admit I didn't know quite what you and Dean meant by 'running cons,' but-- these are criminals!"

Merlin doesn't hide a bit of a smile. "Ehhh…"

Arthur makes a frustrated gesture. "What 'eh'? There is no 'eh'!"

Merlin doesn't waver. This time around he is not sparing Arthur the hard truths. "Except for how there is, Arthur, and furthermore, you know it. Learned it the hard way."

Arthur grimaces. "Thanks so very much for reminding me."

Merlin shrugs one shoulder, smirking maybe a little. "S'what I'm good for."

Arthur huffs. "And not much else."

"Nonsense. I'm very useful."

"Back in the dark ages when we didn't have electricity, maybe."

Merlin puts a hand to his heart. "I'm wounded."

"My mobile does everything but cook me dinner, Merlin. And you can't cook."

"That's fair. Eliot can, though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah.

"Hmm, that's useful knowledge. Eliot likes me."

"Oh really?" Merlin glances at the compact long-haired could-beat-the-shit-out-of-most-mortals gentleman, who narrows his eyes in response. "He looks like he's about to kick your arse six ways to Sunday."

"Six ways to what now?"

"Never mind. Just. Get over this hang-up. They've seen the plan and they've volunteered."

"Aren't we paying them?"

"Details. The point is that they're not backing out, and neither are you." He pokes at Arthur's chest a little. "You promised. You got all shouty."

Arthur has the decency to redden a bit. "Right. Well. I still hate how they say my name," he grumbles. "With the 'r'."

"Arthur," Merlin chastises softly.

"I know, I know. When in Rome. Or Portland."

Merlin grins. "The good news is that in Portland, you can do pretty much whatever you like." 

Arthur cocks his chin. "Yeah?"

Merlin nods, grinning, because he really does love this city. "Yeah."

"Well, then."

What happens next, Merlin could never have forecasted. Because Arthur, without any preamble or warning or set up, leans in and kisses him.

His lips are warm, but the kiss is brief. Then Arthur pulls back and looks at Merlin quizzically. As if _he_ has the right to be confused.

Merlin can only blink back at him. "What… was that?"

Arthur shrugs a shoulder. "I figured I'd, you know, try it."

Merlin's eyebrows have got to be up to his hairline. "You… figured you'd try. It."

"Yes. You're my best mate--that is the term, correct?--and if everyone thinks we're some destined thing, then I figured I should give it a go."

Merlin clears his throat. "Oh, no."

"No? I mean, I apologise if it was untoward--"

"No, Arthur, I'm saying-- That is not giving it a go."

Arthur tilts his head. "No?"

"No. This is."

And Merlin slides a hand behind Arthur's neck, the other on his lower back, and pulls him in for the best kiss of his blessed life.

Second life.

Whatever.

It's a bloody good kiss, warm and soft and just the littlest bit scrapey, so good that Arthur can't help but respond, and Merlin clings to it, surprised by his own vehemence as much as Arthur's.

Only the catcalling of the crew breaks it up.

"Yeah, yeah," Merlin murmurs, his forehead against Arthur's, his face flushed and his heart desperately triple-timing it.

He pulls back after one last press of lips, and the expression on Arthur's face is _priceless_. "Satisfied?"

Arthur opens his mouth, closes it again. Clears his throat. "More parlour tricks."

The crew react predictably. "Sick burn!" Hardison yells among the hooting.

But Merlin only grins. "If you insist."

"This feels like camp," Hardison grumbles a few hours later as they all burrow into their sleeping bags on the floor of the main room.

Eliot throws a pillow at him. "Shut up and go to sleep."

Hardison looks at the pillow, then shrugs and puts it on top of the one he was delegated. "Your loss."

Eliot makes an extraordinarily grumpy face (it seems to be his talent) but then waves it off and fwumps down. "Whatever. I've slept in much worse conditions than this."

"Yeah, me too. Like Detroit."

The next morning, Hardison plops down two bowls of cereal on the counter, and sets himself down on the stool next to Arthur.

"Cheerios," he explains, eyeing Arthur, who's eyeing the bowl in front of him like it's going to insult his mother. "With milk." Hardison picks up his own spoon and scoops some cereal into his mouth in an exaggerated fashion, like he's trying to teach a toddler.

Arthur glares at him. "I know what they are, for the love of all things merciful. I just still--" He purses his lips. "Breaking of the fast should only be cold away from hearth and home," he finishes, mostly into his cereal bowl, but still glaring at Hardison.

Hardison points his spoon at Arthur. "See, now, you say stuff like that, and I know you be trippin."

"He's not on drugs," Merlin protests. "He's just—"

"English?" Eliot supplies, closing the fridge with his foot.

Merlin laughs a little, affection colouring his tone. "Yeah. He really is, isn't he?"

"Just a little. For the record, though," Eliot adds, pointing around the orange juice jug, "I agree with him. I am only eating this breakfast because we're on a schedule."

Merlin reaches over to turn Arthur's wrist so he can see his watch. His mobile stays in his pocket. "Oh, bloody hell, you're right. We have a flight to catch."

Dean protests. "What? You can't just, you know…?" He makes a sort of egg-beater-y motion with his finger.

Merlin shakes his head. He doesn't look at Arthur. "Not the lot of you. I'm good, and I'm that good, but I need all my energy for other things. You know, like faking first class tickets so you don't complain the whole way."

"First class?" Dean's all smiles again. "Excellent. I hear they have bigger bathrooms. If you know what I mean." He winks grandly.

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Yes, Dean, I think we all know what you mean."

"I don't," Arthur says, shooting half a smile at Merlin. "Sorry."

"Oh. Erm. It's… well..."

"The obvious?" Arthur supplies, and Merlin wants to kiss him again, bless him. He's sure it shows on his face, because Arthur's own face is reddening, just a bit, and looking like he wouldn't precisely mind if Merlin followed his instincts.

But he refrains. It's Arthur's turn now, and besides, they have an ocean to cross. A job to do.

A future to save.

"Dom," Merlin says into his mobile as they walk through the Portland airport. "Go buy new passports. And tell Brian 'Page and Plant' is too obvious."

"Hey!" Dean says, surprised. "That was my idea!"

Merlin lowers the phone from his face as he's pressing the End button. "Yes, well, you'll have to duke it out once we meet up in Britain, yeah?"

"Who's a duke?" Arthur says, his face completely impassive but a muscle in his jaw tense. It's only his second airport, after all, and it's a weird one, Merlin can admit. There are five different kinds of rubbish bins, to start.

"I'll explain once we're on the plane. You all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are." He stops where they're standing, airport and Arthur's delicacy be damned, and grips Arthur's shoulders. "You don't have to bullshit me anymore, you know."

"I don't know what you're talking about." But Arthur's lips are pressing together like he's trying to hold his face into one piece.

"You were never very good at it in the first place. Sire."

Arthur blinks, and his face softens minutely. "I'm nobody's king, Merlin."

Merlin feels the smile tugging at his mouth. "Finally, a true statement."

"Tosser."

"Oh, look who's being uncouth."

"You promise me the plane won't crash?"

"I promise you the plane won't crash." Merlin's mostly not lying, although he's never tried to keep a plane in the air. He's fairly certain he could do it, though. Could and would, for Arthur.

Same story, different verse.

_T-Minus 48 Hours_

Arthur manages not to vomit on the plane. Merlin hadn't been looking forward to helping with that, anyway, so he's relieved--and mildly impressed--when Arthur's fingers unclench from the armrest quite soon after take-off.

He doesn't take his eyes off the window until they've been flying through darkness for an while, though. "That's…"

"The Northwest Territories," Merlin supplies.

"Canada."

"Yes. Somewhere down there."

Arthur's voice is low, and he leans a little towards Merlin. "It seems like magic."

"I know. But it's science. They get mistaken for one another a lot." He tilts his head. "Hell, maybe they are one and the same. I don't know."

_T-Minus 41 Hours_

"Are we _there_ yet? For the love of God, Merlin."

Merlin shoves a pillow at him. And he certainly doesn't smile.

_T-Minus 34 Hours_

"Why are there tomatoes? And why are they limp?"

"Shut up and eat it, Hardison."

"Yo, I mean, I will, but I'm-a need like six hours at the gym afterwards, because damn. You Brits don't mess around with breakfast."

Merlin shakes his head, chewing at his bacon rasher. "This is mostly for tourists, these days, sorry to say. Heart disease is killer."

"Nice." Dean flashes a grin at the pun. Sam just shakes his head and goes back to his oatmeal.

_T-Minus 30 Hours_

"2100 hours," Nate says efficiently, pacing back and forth across the hotel room floor, as the rest of them splay across varying pieces of furniture. "Parker, where are you?"

"I'm in the atrium. Can I wear camo?"

"Black. 22:15, where are you?"

"Still in the atrium."

"That's fair. 22:16?"

"East server room. I put the magic card in the thingy--"

"Hey!" Hardison and Merlin say simultaneously.

Parker just rolls her eyes. "--and the lights go out."

"Perfect. 22:22, give or take, The generator kicks on. Eliot?"

"Guards are down."

"All of them?"

Nate just gets a glare in return. Merlin tries not to snicker. 

"Okay, all of them. Hardison?"

"Hey, I'm kickin back in the van at this point."

"And by that you mean making sure we're still patched into everything after the power transfer."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Parker?"

"Do I get a cookie?"

"Do you have the codes?"

"Duh."

"Then yes."

_T-Minus 29 Hours_

"Yeah, Dom," Merlin says into his mobile. "We got 'em."

"Codes?"

"Security codes, guard schedules, blueprints, catering menu… This guy is pretty much running his own Hogwarts."

"Which would be cool, except…"

"Except evil."

"Right. We'll meet you in Scotland."

"Thanks." Merlin pauses, hopes Dom doesn't hang up. Kind of hopes he does. "I owe you," he says finally.

Dom's chuckle is rich. "No. You don't."

_T-Minus 28 Hours_

"Alright. We ready?"

Merlin stands with his hand outstretched. Dean, Sam, and Arthur mirror him without hesitation.

"For what?" Eliot says, looking down at the pile of fists warily.

"For your world to be blown," Dean says with a grin. "Just put it in."

"That's what she said."

"Parker?!" Merlin's kind of scandalized.

Parker shrugs. And puts her fist in. "What can I say?"

"Full of surprises, our Parker is," Hardison says, his expression not-so-subtly fond. Then he puts his fist in. "I'm game."

"So'm I," Sophie says succinctly, putting in her lovely slim hand.

Eliot looks at all of them, but looks at Merlin the hardest. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but what the hell." And he puts his hand on top of Sophie's.

Merlin nods. "Thank you."

Nate sighs. "Kids these days."

"Nate. I'm fourteen hundred years old."

"Right." He sticks his hand in.

The landing is not soft, to say the least. It's been a long time since Merlin tried to transport so many people at once, and he figures they're the tough sort, anyway.

"Ow! Motherf--"

"Oi!"

"At least it was a field, am I right?"

"Damn it, Hardison! Get off my leg!"

Hardison, of course, splays out like a starfish. "I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of how bucolic this is."

Eliot shoves. Merlin laughs. "Sorry, everyone, but we're close to the B&B, I promise."

"We're staying at a B&B?" Sophie asks. She seems charmed by the idea.

"Sort of."

"Merlin," Agatha immediately scolds as soon as he's in the door. "You're not eating enough. I'll make some scones for breakfast in the morning."

Merlin lets most of his grin out as the rest of the group piles into the sitting room behind him. "Thank you, Aggie. That'd be lovely."

"And look at all of these strapping young men!" She puts a hand to where her pearls would be, were she more than a proprietress at a small bed and breakfast. Then she sees Nate. "Oh my!"

And Merlin finds it kind of humorous, because Nate is the opposite of a good catch, and the opposite of fancy free, if the moments Merlin's caught between him and Sophie have anything to say about it. But he's incredibly graceful, and takes her near-swoon in stride.

"Merlin," Hardison mumbles at him as they're led to their rooms. "You got a plan? This place is like -- is like the whitest grandmother of white-town exploded all over the place. There is _chintz_ , bro. Chintz."

"Hush," Merlin replies, and steps past him into the biggest room, where there are four single beds and an innocuous-looking door on the other side of them. "Aggie, is everything ready?"

"Of course, dear. Just as you left it." She puts a hand to her mouth. "Although I did dust it. Is that all right?"

He kisses the top of her head. "You're a dear. Thank you."

"You're welcome. You kids have fun."

"We will, love. Now go on."

He shoos her out the way they came, and she giggles like a young girl. Arthur's giving him a look and shaking his head, but Merlin ignores him. Instead he heads toward the mysterious door.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he says, sweeping it open with a wave of his hand, "welcome to headquarters."

"Oh, my God," Sophie says, her hand fluttering to over her heart.

"I like," Parker says, gazing around the dark, large, electronics-filled room.

"Why," Hardison says, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief, his face looking like it's Christmas morning, "do you have a Bat Cave?"

Merlin shrugs, distinctly not preening. "No need to thank me."

Then there's a new voice, American and enthusiastic. "Don't start without us, man!"

Merlin turns, trying to hide his delight, to where Brian and Dom have just come out through the lift doors. "About time. I thought you blokes were supposed to be fast or something." Then he throws a grin and two thumping hugs, which they receive easily.

"It's good to be back," Brian says. He then shoves his way into the group, reaching out a hand. To Nate. He always has been extremely good at reading people. "Good to meet you. I'm Brian. I drive cars." Nate eyes him, but shakes his hand.

"And I drive better than he does," says Dom, but he doesn't offer a hand right away.

Merlin watches as a Boston-Irish faces down an L.A.-Italian, and breathes out when it ends peacefully. He needs this to come together, and he needs it yesterday.

"Okay, people," he says, raising his hands and letting them crackle with energy. "We have twenty-seven hours."

_T-Minus 22 Hours_

"Why do _I_ have to be the nun?" Parker complains, hanging upside from one of the empty server cages like a bat.

"Because your English accent will fool exactly no one," Nate explains, not unkindly.

Parker shrugs, which is weird from that angle, and moves on. "Please give me the head-wing-things like Sally Field. Please?"

Eliot puts hands on her shoulders and pushes, just enough to make her swing gently. "You're such a dork."

Nate has a 'God love em' look on his face. "We'll see what we can scrounge up."

"Now, Eliot, remember--"

"I'll remember. We should be worried about Hardison."

"Hey, what? I know food! I love food!"

"You love Cocoa Puffs and Hot Pockets. Which is not what we're serving here."

"So tell me what we are serving, tiny ninja man."

"Watch it, or I'll serve _you_."

Hardison makes a mock-scared face. "Oo." Then he just purses his lips. "Real nice, threatening your partner."

"You're not my partner."

"For this, he is," Nate puts in, his tone firm. "And it's not that fancy, Eliot. It's just a rich guy that has a bunch of kids he feeds."

"Fish fingers and custard?" Hardison throws out.

Merlin reaches over for a fist bump. Arthur looks at him questioningly. "I'm British. It's part of my constitution to know _Doctor Who_."

"And not mine?" Arthur says, mildly huffily.

Merlin kind of wants to ruffle his hair. "How about we have marathon after all this is over?" he says instead. "You'll never feel more British in your life, I promise."

Arthur's lips twitch, but his eyes are serious. "I'm holding you to that."

Merlin holds his gaze. "Do."

And then Hardison snaps fingers in his face. "Hello. Bad Guy to overthrow. Hello."

"Right, sorry." He clears his throat, and Arthur looks almost pink. "So you and Eliot get to be caterers while Parker nuns them and Sophie plays a distracting visiting baroness? With Sam and Dean on call for monster-killing and Dom and Brian with getaway cars when everything goes to hell as it surely will?"

Nate lifts one shoulder. "Sounds about right."

"Well," Dean says, shoving the clip into his pistol with a crack. "that's more of a plan than we normally have."

_T-Minus 15 Hours_

"Arthur."

"Not now, Merlin."

Arthur's got a book, and it must be an entrancing book, which is fantastic, truly, but all the same-- "You really must quit pacing. It's making me dizzy." When Arthur makes no move to stop, Merlin sighs.

He stands, plucks the book from Arthur's grip, and forces his gaze. "What is going on in that head of yours?"

Arthur turns away. "Nothing. Just waiting."

"It sucks, I know." Merlin's tone is dryer than the sodding desert.

Arthur stills. "Sorry. I just. I'm not good at it."

"Never have been, I know."

He turns. "Yes, you do know. You know me, better than anyone." He pauses, looking a bit lost. "Better than myself."

Merlin can feel his brow furrowing. "Arthur, what…"

"You know how you asked how I was such a smart bloke, yet never suspected my very own manservant was an outlaw?"

Merlin blinks, but he goes with it. "Yes?"

"Well. I have an answer."

When nothing else comes forth, Merlin prods at him. "I'm listening."

"I had been raised to hate magic, see."

"...yes."

"I had been taught it was base, it was simple, it was devious perhaps but only to one end--evil."

"All right..."

"And I knew, from the moment I met you, that you were a good person."

Merlin is caught off guard. "From the moment--"

"Yes, and if you say one word about fate, I'll--" He stops, regarding Merlin thoughtfully. "But who knows? Maybe it _was_ fate. Does it really matter? The point is that I knew you weren't evil, so I couldn't fathom that you were magical. And time and time again, although you were a bit of a buffoon, you were always at my side, always helping Gaius, always a friend to Gwen." His jaw tics. "You stopped me killing when it wasn't necessary."

"Well. Thank you, I suppose. But…"

Arthur shakes his head. "So I never, ever thought you could be magical. Because I held you in such high regard. Do you understand?"

Merlin's jaw is tight. "I understand."

"You don't seem too pleased."

"What do you expect me to say?"

Arthur sighs, then plucks the book from Merlin's hand and throws it down on the table. "I don't know."

Merlin raises a finger, and the book gently rights itself, then closes properly with a tiny flutter of pages. "I understand that you're a stubborn bastard, and trust me when I tell you that that saved our lives more than once. It also made you a good king, most of the time. I understand that any friendship we had was of secondary, probably tertiary importance to you, and--"

"No," Arthur says sharply. "Don't think that." His jaw works. Merlin waits. "The amount of effort I put into keeping you alive proves otherwise."

Merlin starts to smile. "And vice versa, you know."

"Two sides of the same coin?"

Merlin flinches. "Arthur, I--"

"No. I'm not--let's not talk about that now. I can't think about that now."

"Neither can I."

Arthur crosses his arms, his expression tight. Then he meets Merlin's eyes. "How did you not go mad? All those years, waiting?"

Merlin debates answering seriously, but it's just not the time. "Parlour tricks."

_T Minus 2 Hours_

"My kingdom for some graham crackers. What kind of civilized country doesn't have graham crackers?"

"The same one that brought you the Spice Girls," Merlin answers dryly from where he's sat on the couch, watching Hardison rifle through the cupboards, and watching Eliot watch Hardison molest the kitchen with a glare. Parker is perched on a bookshelf, Nate is pacing and gesturing to himself like he's in a Shakespeare play, Sam and Dean are out back shooting things (targets provided by Agatha, who is full of surprises), and Sophie is… Actually, Merlin's not sure where Sophie is.

They're all at about their last edge. The tick of the clock is audible if they stop talking, so they keep talking, and winding each other up even further. It's like watching puppies. Really clever, slightly deadly puppies.

"Why, Sophie," Arthur's voice suddenly comes over the rest, because his tone is so proper and genuine. "You look absolutely stunning."

They all turn to see Sophie standing in the doorway, dressed and pressed. Arthur, the rat, walks up to her, takes her hand, and kisses it lightly.

She smiles, and she truly is radiant in a Chanel suit and tasteful furs. "Thank you, Arthur. You are a gentleman of the finest order."

Arthur's smile is somewhere between smug and charming. Merlin manages not to laugh.

Instead he stands, and walks over to them. He offers his arm to Sophie, who lets go of Arthur to take it with a small smile. She's nervous, too, but it soothes her. She's a natural. "All right?" Merlin asks anyway. Because this is it. This is the beginning of the end.

"All right," she says back with a nod.

He takes in a breath, concentrates, and within seconds, she's gone.

He turns to the rest of the room. They're all facing him, expectant. The tension is taut as wire.

"Curtain's up, team. Let's go."

"Allons-y?" Hardison adds with a cocky grin, his fist out for a bump.

Merlin grins and knucks back. "Allons-y, indeed."

_T Minus 2 minutes_

Merlin clears his throat, then tries out the in-ear communication system Hardison had sworn up and down was flawless and didn't need any magic other than 'Alec's Magic Touch.' "Hardison? Eliot? You in position?"

Much to his relief, Hardison's voice comes through loud and clear. "I'm up to my elbows in macaroni, if that's what you mean."

"Yeah, we're good," Eliot cuts in. "Although it's rigatone," he adds.

"Who the fu--"

"Good." Merlin grins from where he and Arthur are standing at the southeast corner of their target's estate, encased in a bubble of magic. Merlin's fully aware that their presence is known, regardless, but he's got more confidence than is probably wise. "Sophie?"

"--mind if I go powder my nose?" they hear her saying. They wait a moment, then she's whispering. "I don't know why these sort of gentleman are always unreasonably attractive. I mean, I suppose it goes with the genre, but it's also simply unfair."

Nate clears his throat from back at Aggie's. "How are we doing?"

"Everything's on point, Nate," Arthur answers, because he and Nate had bonded somewhere in between making plans and eating take-away. General-to-general sort of thing, Merlin supposes.

"Good," Nate says shortly. "I'll be here waiting."

Merlin speaks up. "Thanks, mate."

And he means it.

It's far too easy to get in. Merlin knows it's too easy, knows that their little hocus pocus can't've done the trick, considering who they're up against. But he is not going to spit in the eye of temporary good luck.

So when Sophie's distracting schtick works, and Parker has managed to shut down the security system with a little bit of several kinds of magic, and Eliot and Hardison have managed to get all the rest of the children and staff out of the manor and into the surrounding woods, Merlin just takes a deep breath, nods at Arthur, and then leads him into the lion's den in search of one more child.

It's not like they've got a choice, afterall.

"Merlin, stop!" Sophie's voice hisses over the intercom in his ear before they can even get past the outer set of rooms in the giant estate house. "You can't come in yet."

"How d'you mean?" Merlin replies, trying not to be annoyed. "I thought you had him under wraps."

"I do," she retorts, "but he's about to lead me right _to_ her, so if you'd find yourselves a closet and play some backgammon or something, instead of coming in all magical guns a-blaze, I might just be able to wrap this up myself."

Merlin can't say as he's surprised. She's a natural.

"All right, then. Arthur?"

Arthur shrugs. "I hate waiting, but I've not exactly got room to complain."

"No, you do not."

Merlin catches the sound of footsteps approaching just a moment after Arthur does. "Bugger," he mutters, then pulls Arthur towards a door, with barely enough time to send out enough magic to know that it is, indeed, a sort of cupboard or closet, but big enough for them. Barely.

It's not _the_ most awkward situation in which they've ever found themselves, but it's close.

"So," Merlin starts after a moment, "how about Arsenal this season?"

But Arthur doesn't take the bait. Merlin turns to looks at him, curious. And it's the oddest thing, but Arthur seems-- Arthur seems nervous. His mouth opens, then shut again, then opens again.

"Merlin, I--" And then he's doing something bizarre, because he's actually turning into Merlin, moving him until they're even more tightly together, stem to stern. Merlin looks at him, an eyebrow cocked, even as his heart thuds in his ears.

"Arthur, what..."

Arthur drags his gaze away from Merlin's mouth. "We might die in a bit, right?"

Melrin swallows. "Well, I'm not sure we should put it in those terms…"

"Merlin."

"Right. Yes, we might. We--" He thinks of the visions he's seen, thinks of what he knows. "Might."

"All right, then. There's no better time."

"Better time for what? We don't even know how long--"

He's interrupted by Arthur's mouth covering his. It's a kiss with a tinge of desperation to it, but it's strong and it's _Arthur_ and Merlin doesn't even have time to address all the emotions assulting him before Arthur's pulling back. Not all the way, just ending the kiss with an expertise that was hampered not at all by a thousand years of rest.

"I've thought about it," he says quietly, the words a rush of air against Merlin's cheek.

"Yeah?" Merlin can hardly breathe, let alone think enough to form coherent sentences. "About anything, in particular?"

Arthur pauses, and Merlin wonders about it but then feels Arthur's hand slide under his jumper and just about hits the ceiling. "About what that man said, back in DC. He said I was alright with sharing you if it was only with women, because--"

Merlin can't help but reach out and turn Arthur's face back to his. "Because women were no threat, yes, I remember, but--"

Arthur's lips linger on his jaw. "And I've discovered that he's correct, of a fashion." And those lips travel down to Merlin's neck and his hand explores the soft skin of Merlin's belly, fingers sure even as they tremble a little.

"Clearly--Fuck's sake, Arthur--"

Arthur pulls back, and when his eyes meet Merlin's they're clear. Terrified, but clear. "I find I want to be the bloke doing this."

He brings his lips down to Merlin's again, and that's it, Merlin's done holding back. He grips Arthur tightly and pulls him in as far as he can get him, kissing him like it's the last kiss he'll ever have--

\--which it just might be.

"All right, boys," Sophie's voice comes through, sounding slightly amused. "Enough of that. You have a job to do."

There's throat clearing from Nate, and a snort from Hardison. Arthur is flushed, and a little mussed, and gorgeous, and Merlin almost doesn't care that she's right.

Almost.

"You're better than Google maps," Merlin mutters to Sophie over the intercom as they arrive at their destination -- third door on the left, east wing, second floor.

The door looks so innocuous, so pale and still. Merlin knows better.

He puts out a hand to restrain Arthur from just barging through. "No. This time, we do it my way."

Arthur's jaw jumps, but he acquiesces, and Merlin has never been more in love with him. Which then strikes him as silly, because it's such a small moment. But it's the small moments that matter, in the end. "I've got the lock dismantled. On my count," he says, and Arthur nods.

She's there. She's blonde, and about nine, maybe, if Merlin had to guess, and she doesn't seem frightened. Her name, Merlin can see clear as day without a hint of effort, is Alacia MacNichols, and she could destroy the world someday. "You came," she says quietly, and she sounds nothing if not mildly relieved.

She reaches up a hand. Merlin can _feel_ the magic crackling off of her, leaping in between them.

And then the room explodes around her.

"Merlin, Jesus Christ. Are you all right?"

Merlin blinks, then blinks again at Arthur's worried visage, which is dusty and slightly scratched but right beside him.

Turns out Merlin had thrown the protective bubble up in time, and now finds himself in a sort of haphazard pile with Arthur, a few pieces of rubble, and a frightened little girl.

"Alacia, darling, did you do that?"

She shakes her head, but her eyes are wide and wet. She probably doesn't even really know, the poor dear.

"It's all right," he says quietly, running a hand soothingly over her hair. "It's all right, even if you did, because everyone's safe now. Our friends got all of your friends out, and we've got you, and--"

She's shaking her head. "Not safe."

He pauses, but she has a point. "Yeah, you're probably right. Let's--" And he concentrates and tries, really tries, but his magic is recalcitrant, reluctant. "Arthur," he says without hesitation. "Come here."

"What--I'm already here, Merlin, I don't see--"

"I didn't say you needed to speak," Merlin replies wryly as he wraps whatever limbs he can around Arthur, squishing Alacia between them slightly. "Just be here. Focus."

Arthur huffs, the exhalation ruffling Alacia's hair, but does as instructed, and Merlin's magic is replenished in mere moments. They're getting better at this. "You're my Energizer Bunny," he says, more pleased than he ought to be, as he begins to untangle them.

"Your what, now?" Arthur says.

"Don't worry about it." Merlin leans forward on impulse and brushes their lips together. "You're brilliant. Now let's get the fuck out of here."

"Merlin, language."

"Right, sorry. Ready to go, Alacia?"

She nods, and he kisses the top of her head just before his magic whirls them away.

They end up in the courtyard of the estate, not back at the B & B, and Merlin has a bad, bad feeling about this. He glances around, his back to Arthur, Alacia held in between them.

"I really wish you would've let me bring a weapon," Arthur growls.

"It wouldn't've helped," Merlin replies, his stomach churning and his grip on Alacia tightening.

"It would've helped me feel better," Arthur replies archly, and Merlin has to admit he has a point.

"Yes, alright, well, next time--"

There's a shout, and it sounds like Dean. And suddenly all of them, the full crew of mad hatters he hired, are running into the courtyard, full tilt behind Dean. When Dean sees Merlin and stops, they all barrel into him and each other, and it's all so comedic for a moment that Merlin laughs out loud.

"What the good great bloody hell are you all doing here? Is everyone out?"

But they all look mildly surprised by this turn of events, too. "Dunno," Dean finally says. "Everyone's out, yeah, down to the last scullery maid. But… We just knew you needed us. Felt the voodoo. You know."

Merlin blinks. "I… _wished_ hard enough that it got you all here?"

"Go go Power Rangers," Dean replies with a flash of teeth.

"Actually," Sam cuts in, looking keenly at Alacia, "I'm pretty sure _she_ did."

"She's wee, though," Merlin says thoughtlessly. He's so dumbfounded he wouldn't know an arse from a teakettle. Not in fourteen hundred years has anything like this happened.

"Naw, man," Hardison explains. "She didn't transport us here or nothin. We just-- We were all headed back to HQ, but we thought you might need us."

Merlin's heart swells to three times its size. "So you fought through castle gates?"

"Yeah," Parker says. "Well, those two did," she amends, thumbing at Dean and Sam.

"Easy as pie," Dean says smugly. "The gargoyles were a pain in the ass, though."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Gargoyles? You mean the big stone statues at the front entrance?"

"Yeah. They came to life. They were very… bitey."

"Very," Sam agrees, wiping what Merlin now can identify as gargoyle slime off his forehead.

"Kind of like Arthur, apparently," Dean says with a wicked grin, nodding at Merlin, who immediately slaps a hand to his neck.

"Shit," he mutters. "Listen," he says, switching obstinately to the real subject, "I can't have all of you here. I can't. You've done your jobs and you've done them with aplomb and I just--" He gestures helplessly. "This is up to me, now."

But they're all shaking their heads, their stances giving not an inch. Merlin's eyes start to burn.

Then there's a slow clap from behind them.

"Well, well," a smooth male voice says. "Isn't this lovely."

Without conscious thought, Merlin pushes Alacia forward and throws a ward up where she had just been standing. "Get the hell out of here!" he shouts at this friends, at his crew that have become to important to him, who could all die here today because of him, and he just can't survive that happening again, he just can't--

They can't hear him behind the bubble, and are stubborn anyway, so he's not surprised when they all look determined to stay-- until Eliot puts a fist into the ward and is promptly thrown backwards.

Merlin isn't fucking about this time.

The rest of them get the message, and though they all throw looks his direction, from glares to worry to outright panic, they leave. They'll be back at headquarters, waiting for him. He knows it. He just can't think about it.

Sam is the last. He takes Alacia's hand, scoops her up so she doesn't even have time to be scared, plus he's got that Sam touch, and presto, she melts into him, tucks her head into his neck and clings.

He puts a hand on her head, instinctively, then freezes, his face glassy. After a moment, he looks up, his eyes wide and pained.

_Merlin,_ he shouts, but Merlin can only watch his lips move. _Use him._

Merlin shakes his head, concentrates on pushing the word beyond the bubble. _What?_

_Use Arthur._ The words echo in his head, short and deadly. _It's the only way you'll both survive._

And then he's gone.

"Arthur."

The word is shocked out of Merlin on a choked breath when he turns round and sees that Arthur is still there, Arthur is there and is striding up to this man, to this madman in Armani, who merely has a smug look on his far-too-handsome (Sophie was right, damn and blast) face.

"Arthur, _no!_ " He flings out a hand and Arthur turns, startled, as he's suddenly moved to the other side of the courtyard, safe for one more blessed moment.

"He's of no use to me, you know," their target says. Then he puts out a hand, as if Merlin will want to fucking _shake_ it. "It's Patrick. Patrick Smith and I believe we've yet to be introduced."

"Don't you dare start monologuing," Merlin warns, his voice deadly quiet. "I'm here to kill you. No banter necessary."

He's so fucking angry he's shaking. The air around them is full of magic, more than Merlin has felt in hundreds and hundreds of years. The looming of fate is heavy on his shoulders, and he _hates_ it.

Smith cocks his head, and shrugs one shoulder. "If you insist." 

And with a mere nod, he has Arthur on the ground, and Merlin wants to scream.

_Use him_ , Sam's voice echoes in his head.

"Merlin," Smith drawls, "enough dawdling."

_I can't,_ Merlin thinks wildly. _I can't risk him._

Then Arthur, fighting against a force of magic so strong he should be unconscious, raises his head.

The look in his eyes-- It's the stuff of kings, of countries, of destiny itself. It's a look Merlin's been waiting fourteen hundred years to see.

And just like that, he knows what to do.

The spike of magic manifests as red, but Merlin doesn't care, he just cares that it drives Mr Armani back, snaps the hold on Arthur long enough for Merlin to haul him up.

"Arthur," he says roughly, holding Arthur so tightly he's probably leaving bruises. "Arthur, don't go anywhere."

"Never," Arthur vows, moving in closer, and Merlin's throat tightens.

"Even though this might kill us both?" he manages.

Arthur's face-- Merlin's ready to jump off a cliff for that face, a thousand times over. "Are you deaf as well as an idiot? I said never."

Merlin lets out a sound that might be a laugh, or might be a sob, and lets them rest together just a moment more. "Alright," he breathes out, their lips close enough to touch. "On my count."

Arthur nods, the movement minute against Merlin's skin. "Ready."

Merlin sees it in flashes, like he's at a discotheque.

Arthur standing with him, shoulder to shoulder.

Patrick laughing, pointing a finger at Arthur. Green energy lashing across the courtyard, trying to surround them.

Merlin raising a hand, feeling the power rush through him as he blocks the attack, as the very air around them hisses with the conflict.

Knowing this might be the end, for Arthur, for him, for the world. Knowing they might not be able to stop this man, even with whatever magic they manage to conjure up together.

Knowing he'd do it exactly the same again, anyway.

Throwing out lash after lash of fire, of the essence of the earth itself, of the hatred he'd never before let himself loose on another human being.

Arthur there, with him, strength embodied.

And then-- nothing.

He wakes up about a thousand years later (metaphorically, this time, he's relatively certain) to the sound of Arthur's deep breathing in the bed with him, and Agatha puttering about.

He rubs his eyes. He feels like absolute rubbish, exhausted and achey and probably filthy as gangbusters.

But he's alive.

Which is rather nice.

"Oh!" He must make a noise, because Agatha straightens from where she's dusting. "You poor dear," she immediately fusses, putting another pillow behind him as he tries to sit up. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been run over by a lorry?" he says, almost apologetic, because Lord only knows how long they've been taking up all her space, and she does have a business to run.

Then something occurs to him, and he sits up. "What happened to the girl? What happened to Alacia?"

"She's fine, dear, she's with her parents."

Merlin sinks back down into the pillows. "Thank fu--" Aggie looks at him sharply. "I mean, thank heavens. That's good." He groans and puts a hand to his head. "I feel awful."

"That's to be expected," she says soothingly. "You took a good knock to the skull. We were worried we'd lost you for a moment. You both," she says, glancing at Arthur fondly.

"You--" Merlin blinks. "I what?"

"Dreadful business," she says brusquely, busying herself with the covers. "They brought you back round here and you absolutely looked a fright."

Merlin rubs his eyes again. "Right, hang on-- Who?" he says, dropping his hands. "Who brought me back here?"

"The Americans, of course."

"Which ones?"

"Oh, all of them."

"And I was unconscious?"

"You were bleeding profusely."

"Was I?"

She sighs, then reaches out to smooth back his sweat-damp hair. "Merlin, my dear, you were very nearly dead."

Merlin, who hasn't had a scratch in fifty years, let alone a serious wound, feels his mouth fall open a little. 

"Aggie…" he starts slowly. Then he has an idea, like an itch. "Do you mind?"

He raises a hand, his heart pounding and his stomach a bit sick, and she puts the feather duster down. "Of course, dear. Work your magic."

Merlin tries. He feels nothing for a moment, and his heart nearly stops.

Then there's a muttering, and he feels an arm press up against him, then a side. His magic stirs. 

Arthur sits up, brow furrowed blearily. "Merlin, what on earth are you--"

Merlin laughs, full from his belly, as the feather duster slowly rises into the air.

"Parlour tricks," he says. And then is thoroughly flummoxed when he's suddenly covered by a blanket of Arthur.

"Mmmhmph," he tries, but Arthur just shushes him. He can hear Agatha's laughter somewhere far in the distance, and then the door closing behind it. That traitor. Merlin's going to suffocate to death under a mound of sleepy Arthur and no one gives a toss.

Finally, Arthur shifts so he's not crushing Merlin, easily slotting their legs together, and props himself up on his arms. With the duvet behind him and his hair dirty and hanging down, he looks a little ridiculous. Merlin's smile must be blinding, because Arthur's squinting at him.

"You said we were going to die," he says accusingly.

"I said we were _probably_ going to die," Merlin protests. "And your breath is terrible," he adds, mostly out of spite because he's sure his is just as horrifying.

"So? Fix it. What are you good for?"

Merlin glares. And fixes it. "There, minty fresh. Happy?"

Arthur grins. "Very." And he leans down and captures Merlin's lips and oh, it's very nice to be alive indeed.

Arthur hesitates when he gets to the elastic of Merlin's pyjama bottoms, though. Merlin chuckles into his neck, then makes a soothing noise when Arthur stiffens. "No, love, no. I just--"

He puts a finger to Arthur's chin until he's looking him in the eye. "I forget how inexorably noble you are."

Arthur looks a bit chagrined. "Is that... a problem?"

Merlin grins. "I'm not sure how long we have until Aggie comes back in here looking for something else to clean, so--"

"So you're saying--"

Merlin puts his hands on ither side of Arthur's face. "I'm saying this is fine. Whatever you want, or don't want, is fine." He presses their lips together. "We have time, Arthur."

Arthur kisses him back, but protests shortly thereafter. "I heard Agatha, though-- You're no longer--" He falters. "You were wounded."

"Yes," Merlin says, soft words on the corner of Arthur's mouth. "I was. As were you."

"So we don't have _that_ much time."

Merlin shrugs. "We no longer have all of time itself, this is true. But people live to be eighty, ninety years old these days."

"Oh, really?" Arthur says, perking up.

Merlin feels the hand venture under his pants once more, much more sure this time round. He inhales quickly when Arthur begins to stroke. "Yeah," he manages, voice rough as gravel. "Really."

"So I have time to practise this?" Arthur says, and Merlin can hear the smirk.

He groans, holding tightly onto Arthur's shoulders, his hips moving of their own accord. It's been far, far too long. "Stop being coy. It's not a good look for--ah, fuck--you."

Arthur follows orders, or, rather, is too occupied to keep being a smartarse, because he quiets, his eyes on Merlin's face and his expression serious as his hand works its own brand of magic.

Merlin feels caught by the pleasure, stuck by it all, and holds Arthur's gaze as long as he can. When orgasm overtakes him, he closes his eyes and just feels, clutches at Arthur, uncaring that he's surely reddening Arthur's skin, hips bucking against his will as Arthur's teeth scrape along the skin of his neck. Arthur's name coming out of his throat like a prayer.

When he can finally think again, he reaches for Arthur's tracksuit bottoms. But Arthur's hand stops him gently.

"Erm," Arthur starts, his cheeks strangely flushed. "No need. Already… Yeah, no need."

"Oh," Merlin says dumbly, then becomes aware of the excess wet warmth between them. "Oh! Well. That's…" He grins up at Arthur. "Awesome. That's awesome."

Arthur shakes his head with a small smile and leans down to linger at Merlin's mouth. "Practise, like I said."

"Yeah, loads," Merlin murmurs, the words warm against Arthur's lips. "Loads of practise."

It's languid, and sticky, and really, really lovely.

And it's all shattered by a voice coming from the tv monitor on the coffee table.

"Out of bed, you daisyheads!"

Merlin sits up so fast he nearly clocks Arthur one.

Arthur curses vehemently. "Holy--"

"Apparently he's acclimated," Sophie's voice interrupts wryly, "if he's picked up Merlin's potty mouth." 

Merlin pulls the covers over them with an wave of a hand and rolls his eyes at the screen. "Hello to you, too, Soph."

"And Nate," she amends.

"And Parker," Nate adds.

"And Eliot," Parker chimes in.

"And Hardison," Hardison says. "Ow," he adds. "What was that for?"

"For going out of turn!" Parker hisses, as if it were obvious.

"This is like dork recess," Eliot says grumpily.

"Does that make you the hall monitor? Do you have a vest? Because I bet you could rock a vest."

Merlin clears his throat. Loudly.

"Sorry," Nate replies. "We were just waiting for--" The screen splits into two, and Sam and Dean appear in a new window. "There we go."

"What the--"

"Yeah," Dean says with slight disgust, "Hardison made me take this-- I dunno, this phone-slash-computer thing. It does everything but the useful stuff, like kill demons."

"I'm working on one of those next," Hardison protests.

"Okay, Venkman," Dean replies.

Hardison's face is suddenly very close to the screen. "Age of the geek, baby!"

"Ehh. Call me when it can pick up chicks." Dean waves him off. "So, Merlin. How's it hanging?"

"I've no idea, to be quite frank," Merlin answers matter-of-factly. "I've just woken up."

Nate starts to explain. "We stayed at the B&B for a couple days after we got you out of the remains of the manor--"

"Which, by the way," Hardison interrupts, "you blasted to smithereens."

"--but we all had, uh, unavoidable reasons to come back to the States."

Merlin snorts.

"And we were confident Miss Aggie could keep an eye on you."

"As she well did!" Agatha says from the doorway.

Merlin groans, because he has no idea how long she's been there, and his stomach is sticky with cooling bodily fluids. "Is nothing sacred?" he mutters.

Dean cuts to the chase. "But you have to get back here, pronto."

"Oh?" Arthur finally contributes. "Does this country not need us anymore?"

"No, it probably does, but this one's got bigger monsters to kill."

"And bigger bad guys to take down," Eliot adds.

Merlin raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, now that you've finished off Mr Smith."

"Which," Hardison says gleefully, "by the way, you so totally did. Did I mention smithereens? It's was gross as hell, man, little bits of--"

"Thanks very much, Hardison," Merlin cuts in. "But I'm sure there's work to be done here, as well--"

"Talking fieldmice do not count, Merlin."

"--despite what Dean may think, thanks. Also, I would like to be close to Alacia in case she needs me."

"Uh, Merlin?" Sam ventures. "You can apparate."

Merlin scowls. "I hate that term. And besides, Arthur--" Merlin glances at him. "This is Arthur's home, and he's been away for a long time."

But Arthur's shaking his head. "Merlin," he says quietly. "This is not my home."

"But I figured--"

"No. It's another world, now." He looks squarely at Merlin, and reaches out to place a palm over Merlin's heart. " _This_ is my home now."

"Arthur…" Merlin whispers, his chest positively aching. He kisses him, hard, not even caring about their audience.

"Oh, how perfectly sweet," Sophie says, and Merlin hears her sniffling a little.

"Gross," Parker says.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean says, "get your mack on, but then come back, ya hear? We got shit that needs killin."

Merlin pulls back with a laugh, but he doesn't let go of Arthur's hand, which hasn't moved. "A tempting offer, Dean, but--"

"Plus," Hardison says, wiggling his eyebrows. "we've got loads of stuff to teach Arthur."

"What, like RISK?"

"Oh, _hell_ no. He is not allowed to learn RISK. Not ever."

"Worried for your reputation?"

"No."

"Sure."

Hardison crosses his arms. "A little, yeah. But we were thinking more like how to shoot a gun at the bad guys."

"Or I could teach him enough so that he'd never have to use guns," Eliot says.

"Or that," Hardison amends.

Arthur looks far, far too delighted at this prospect. Merlin resists the urge to put his head in his hands in despair.

"So," Dean says charmingly. "We getting the band back together or what?"

An hour later, he and Arthur are packing their things, discussing whether or not they should get one last curry before leaving Britain, and making travels plans (Merlin scoffs when Arthur mentions stopping in Tahiti, then he throws down something about not needing clothes on private beaches and Merlin is checkmated two moves into the match), when Arthur mentions getting a house together in Portland.

"What?" Merlin comes up short, a shirt dangling from his hand.

Arthur looks surprised at Merlin's surprise. "Well, I supposed, what with being-- you know, romantically coupled, we would want to also co-habitate, but if that's not done--"

"No, Arthur, I mean--" He throws the shirt into the suitcase and runs a hand through his hair. "Yes, it's done, but-- But then everyone will know. Not just the crew, I mean-- Everyone. Neighbours, shop clerks. _Everyone_ , Arthur."

Arthur's eyes narrow a bit, assessing. "You said it was common now, did you not?"

"I did, and it is, especially in Portland, but-- It's still not the easiest thing in the world."

At which Arthur smirks.

"...which probably makes it _more_ appealing to you, doesn't it?"

Arthur holds out a hand. "Lead the way into battle, my friend."

Merlin takes it, by the wrist. The old way. Then tugs until Arthur's near enough to kiss. "No battle, Arthur," he murmurs. "Just life."

"Yes," Arthur replies, his smile etched into Merlin's mouth. "That, too."

_**fin** _

**Author's Note:**

>  **Sources** : _The X-Files_ episodes 5x12 'Bad Blood'  & 3x17 'Pusher', the Supernatural wiki, [_The Last Legion_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Last_Legion), _Doctor Who_ , Harry Potter et al, my high school history teacher, _One on One_ by Tabitha King, _Sister Act_ , _Mr & Mrs Smith_, _Forces of Nature_ , The Simpsons, and of course, like a boss, Aaron Sorkin.
> 
> **Thanks to** : The mods of **aftercamlann** for running such a huge thing. **argentsleeper** for the art, which can be seen separately [here](http://adorablepuppyassassin.tumblr.com/post/95190343370/after-camlann-art-how-to-fake-a-miracle-by). **blue_eyed_1987** for the mix. **#aftercamlann** chat folks and the folks in **camladerie**. My folks on LJ and Twitter for putting up with me unflinchingly. And last but most certainly not least, everyone give a huge round of applause to **Kristie** , because she had to deal with me IRL _every day_ , and still betaed, cheerleaded, logicked, and just generally made herself the most awesome thing to happen to me in a long time.


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